


The Sea and Stars Are Yours, My Dear, But the Moon Would Not Cooperate

by NeverwinterThistle



Category: Dishonored (Video Game)
Genre: Attempted courtship would be more accurate to be honest, Courtship, Kink Meme, Low Chaos, M/M, The Language of Flowers, lovespoons, serenades
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-04
Updated: 2013-03-06
Packaged: 2017-12-04 07:08:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/707962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeverwinterThistle/pseuds/NeverwinterThistle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Outsider explores the murky seas of human courtship while Corvo watches in bemusement, and in the background Emily draws, Callista takes charge, Piero sulks, and Cecelia accidentally becomes indispensable. There's also a plague, a vase of asparagus, and about a hundred singing whales who randomly showed up in the harbour one evening.</p>
<p>The squid is <i>still wriggling</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Море и звезды принадлежат тебе, мой дорогой, и только луна упрямится](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5107655) by [Gianeya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gianeya/pseuds/Gianeya)



"What is this."

 

It wasn't phrased as a question; the Outsider's usual monotone was broken by something harsh and unimpressed.

Fighting off a sudden wave of guilt that he _did not deserve_ , Corvo didn't turn to face him. "What are you referring to, exactly?" The air seemed still, somehow. They weren't in the Void, and the soft ticking of his pocket watch told him time hadn't stopped, but it was definitely getting colder.

"This. It appears to be some kind of poem, praising the...skill of your blade, the virtues of your dedication to the Empress, and the considerable attractions of your body."

"There's your answer then." The temperature in the room plummeted steeply, and Corvo found himself breathing steam over the letter he was failing to write.

 

"Who sent it to you? Why?" There was bafflement in there with the irritation; it appeared someone had just discovered displeasure, and wasn't sure what to do with it. The thought was both amusing and horrifying in equal parts.

"Well, it's unsigned, but the writing looks like that of a noblewoman, and I assume she sent it because she'd like to court me." Suppressing a shiver, he carefully replaced the lid on his ink. The hour was late, but he'd meant to catch up on some correspondence; the messages were piling in, sympathy and assurances of support, enquiries after his health... parasites, the lot of them, but he was obliged to reply. He hadn't factored in a surprise visit from his inhuman benefactor, or that the Outsider would be in such an odd mood.

"That you can find time for...courting, between serving the new Empress and maintaining my interest is nothing short of _astounding_." That last word was rumbled, incoming waves on unmoving rock, and very definitely not a compliment.

 

Corvo shuffled the papers on his desk idly, mind racing. Delicacy seemed appropriate, if the Outsider was set on being possessive. He could laugh the letter off, tear it to pieces and throw them into the fireplace... a wise man would have avoided a confrontation he couldn't win.

 

It had been a long day, however, mostly spent looking for something to improve a life he knew he'd once enjoyed, and which now struck him as tiresome. He'd never made any claims to wisdom, anyway.

"You do realise I'm human, don't you? And I'm not mad, like the old rat witch, and maybe Daud's soul is made of stone, but mine isn't. Sometimes I need do things just because they make me happy." He tossed the papers aside before they ended up in the fire. That too would please him. "It might seem silly, or purposeless, but adults need games as much as children. Courting is a game we play."

 

No need to add that he hadn't actually intended to locate the poem's author, though clues had been left in the unusual perfume that scented it, and the carefully chosen wording that his mystery admirer would no doubt slip pointedly into their next conversation. It didn't matter that he hadn't cared before, because teasing the Outsider might not be the most sensible game, but it was a game nonetheless.

 

He turned in his chair to look side-on at the young man with black eyes. Perplexed black eyes, narrowed as they read through the offending missive a second time.

"And _you_ , Corvo, you enjoy courting? It entertains you." Staring into the Outsider's eyes was never comfortable; at the best of times it was like being caught in the beam of a spotlight, if the spotlight cast a nothingness that ate at its surroundings. The worst of times came when he was curious, when he asked a question he genuinely wanted answers to, and that was a little like staring straight into the Void's unending expanse, the whispered draw of eternity that just said, _jump_.

 

Corvo blinked, and tried to put his thoughts back together. "I..." he cleared his throat, started again. "I suppose so. Sweeping romantic gestures are enjoyable just as they are, whether or not they stand for anything more than just the gesture itself. People are vain, we live for praise."

The Outsider's frown deepened as he weighed Corvo's reply. "So being courted makes you happy," he asked pointedly.

It was an effort not to roll his eyes, to remember that this creature had very little concept of time, and longevity didn't necessarily guarantee a comprehensive understanding of human mating rituals. Perhaps they'd never interested him before.

 

"Yes," Corvo said firmly. "As long as they mean no harm by it, and don't feel entitled to reciprocation, then yes. I like courting." He rose stiffly from his chair, pulling a face as his back protested. Too long spent on those vile letters, and sitting in futile council meetings in silence, just to show the important people that Emily had his support. "Don't you have anything better to do? Because if you're just curious about...romantic pursuits, the library has plenty of books. There's another meeting at dawn tomorrow, and I need to sleep."

 

Once he'd have looked on his own flippancy with abject terror, but he rather felt that he'd earned the right to small rebellions, after everything that had happened. And he really was tired, if tired was the right word for the bone-deep exhaustion that plagued him these days. An unhealthy mix of cynicism, justified mistrust and plain boredom, and he'd yet to find any kind of cure. Emily's innocently blatant hints ("Corvo, Callista seems lonely these days. You should bring her flowers, then she'd smile more and maybe forget that I didn't do the homework she assigned me") weren't helping.

 

The Outsider cast one more disgusted look at the letter, before disintegrating it with a terse gesture.

"This is interesting," he announced. "I will think on it further." Without a word of farewell, he vanished. Shaking his head and trying to fight back laughter at the thought of the Outsider burying himself in the library's worst erotic novels, Corvo went to bed. For once, the dreams did not disturb him.

 

He forgot the incident entirely over the next few days. 'Troubled' didn't begin to describe the situation in Dunwall, and for every seemingly obvious solution there were a thousand hesitating bureaucrats to stop its progress. Sokolov and Piero were still hunting a plague cure, demanding more live subjects every day, and showing no progress for all the Weepers Corvo sent them. The Abbey was a mess, the combined shame of two successive corrupt High Overseers tearing the institute apart from the inside.

 

At least Campbell's diary was safe, locked in a chest in Corvo's rooms. He'd take it out occasionally, eyeing the coded pages thoughtfully and wondering if he could force stability (in Emily's favour, of course) by unravelling its secrets. He hadn't succumbed yet, but they could not go on like this for much longer. The Empress must have the Abbey's support, and so far they hadn't so much as decided on a replacement for Martin. Factions, in-fighting, ambition. Useless bastards, the lot of them.

 

Financing the military was a nightmare: the plague had killed an awful lot of taxpayers, and the nobility were totally disinclined to make donations to pay for soldiers, let alone charity for plague survivors. He knew for a fact that the two remaining Ladies Boyle still threw extravagant parties for their friends, but all his pointed hints about the money being better spent elsewhere fell on deaf ears. And for all that Emily had banned the practice, guardsmen were still dumping living people into the Flooded District along with corpses.

 

The Whalers had vanished entirely after Corvo chose to spare their leader. He couldn't decide if that was good or not; on the one hand, it was one less headache to deal with. On the other, he should've had the foresight to trap Daud into swearing fealty to Emily. They could have used a well-organised gang of eminently trained men for all sorts of things, but it was too late for that.

 

"-Corvo? Are you angry with me?"

He blinked, then looked Emily in the eye. "No, of course not. I never am."

She scowled at him, unconvinced. "But I was _talking_ to you, and you weren't listening. Isn't it illegal to ignore the Empress?"

"I wasn't-"

"You didn't even look at my drawing." Her lip was wobbling; guilt bloomed heavily in the base of his stomach. However nightmarish his problems seemed, Emily shared them and more besides. Ten years old and expected to pull miracles from thin air, trying to make herself heard over much louder adults, trying to understand when people would not explain. He could have kicked himself for his own idiocy.

 

"I'm sorry, Emily, that was wrong of me. Will you show me your drawing again?"

"Will you actually _look_?" She was mulish when she wanted to be, as stubborn as her mother.

"I'll have eyes for nothing else, I promise." He took the roll of paper she offered him, spreading it out over the table she was working at.

She'd drawn them both, walking hand in hand down one of Dunwall's cobbled streets. Emily's other hand was wrapped around what appeared to be Sokolov's. There were colourful banners stretched across their heads, and cheering people on the sidewalks, and in general everyone appeared ridiculously happy.

 

It was a nice image, and he told her so. Emily's eyes lit up at the praise.

"See, it's a celebration. You're with me because you're my Royal Protector, and Sokolov's just cured the plague so I'm honouring him by letting him hold my other hand. And all the people are plague survivors, and they're cheering us for saving them, and they like me being Empress so they've promised to stop robbing and murdering."

Corvo held in a laugh that might have been misconstrued as mocking, ruffling her hair gently. "It's wonderful. I like it very much."

She nodded in satisfaction. "Good. I'll tell him that."

 

"Who?" He racked his brains, trying to work out if it was a reference to the conversation he'd missed. "...Sokolov?" he hazarded.

Emily rolled her eyes. "No, silly. _Him_. He said you were looking sad, and I should draw something to cheer you up." She pointed at the picture, and that was when Corvo noticed that what he'd taken for another bystander was actually a young man with black eyes, and a smug smile. It was quite a good likeness, but that wasn't the point.

 

"He's been _talking_ to you? When? How often? What kind of behaviour has he been encouraging?" He could hear the horror rising in his voice. Emily just shrugged carelessly.

"He's a bit scary, but he doesn't..." Frowning, she tried to mimic his voice. " _Encourage behaviour unsuitable for an Empress_." She giggled at her own attempt, then continued in her normal voice. "I see him around sometimes, and he bows to me and asks me how the Empire's going. Once he told me all about whales, and then I told Callista and she was very pleased that I was _taking an interest in Dunwall's industry_." This time, it was her tutor being imitated.

 

Corvo stepped firmly on the fear rising in his stomach, forcing it back down. It didn't sound harmful, and he was almost certain she was telling him the truth. Maybe the Outsider just liked children. Whales were supposed to, weren't they? Sokolov might know.

Emily was still talking. 'He asks about you a lot."

"Does he?" That seemed odd. Why bother asking, when he could simply observe Corvo whenever he pleased?

"Yes. He says you look sad a lot of the time, and he doesn't like it, but he's not sure what to do. He's right, too," she said with a reproachful look. "You don't smile much anymore, even though I'm Empress now and you should be happy for me."

 

Well. That was unexpected. "I am happy for you. Of course I am."

Emily didn't appear convinced. "Then why don't you smile?" It was a valid question, and he considered various answers before replying.

"I suppose I worry about the people who are sick, or can't afford enough elixir, or who lost family and mourn them. I'm sure I'll smile more once we've solved their problems."

"Like in the picture." It seemed she'd accepted his explanation.

"Exactly like that. Although," he pointed at the bearded man who was supposed to represent Sokolov. "You know it couldn't actually happen this way. You've gone and snubbed Piero."

Her eyes widened. "Oh, I forgot him! That's bad, isn't it? He'll be upset."

"I should think he'll be very upset indeed."

 

Emily grabbed the picture and rolled it up in quick, frustrated movements. "I'll have to draw it again. This one won't do at all."

Corvo's lips twitched. It was moments like this, small though they were, that told him she'd grow into one of the greatest rulers the Empire had ever known; her innate sense of justice and childish attempts to be fair, to be _good_ , were a pleasure to see. Jessamine would have been proud indeed.

 

That thought was a small joy in the space left by her absence. It didn't help enough, but it helped. "Perhaps Piero could have my place, just this once," he suggested. "Since it's a special occasion, and he's just cured the rat plague."

 

Emily gave him a grateful smile. "You don't mind?"

"Not at all. Just put me in the background somewhere."

"You could stand next to your friend, then you wouldn't be lonely." It took him a moment to grasp who she was talking about.

"...He's not really my-"

Her eyes turned mischievous. "Maybe he'd hold your hand instead."

Knowing he'd lost the battle, Corvo sighed and acquiesced. "Yes, I'm sure he would."  He didn't remember Jessamine displaying such a devout interest in matchmaking. Perhaps it was just a phase. He could only hope it passed soon, because while Callista was one thing, the Outsider was another entirely. They weren't even the same _species_.

 

And besides, he probably wouldn't find that kind of thing interesting enough.

The next afternoon found Corvo standing at his writing desk, fists clenched and eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"It just appeared, I have no idea where it came from. There's no note or the like; I'm not entirely sure what to make of it. Some kind of cleverly disguised assassination attempt, perhaps?"

At his side, Captain Curnow gave the porcelain flowerpot a slight prod. "You don't think you might be overreacting a bit? It's not even ticking suspiciously. Quite pretty, actually, if you like that kind of thing." He glanced at Corvo's face and turned away, hiding his laughter behind a cough.

"Be reasonable, Corvo. Who would try something so ridiculous?"

"The very fact that you dismiss it as ridiculous is what makes it so clever!"

 

Shaking his head, Curnow laid a hand on Corvo's shoulder. "I wonder if you aren't getting as much sleep as you should be, seeing as how you're accusing flowers of trying to kill you. I can't order you to take a few rest days, you're not one of my men, but you might want to consider it."

 

Corvo glared at the pot, which continued to sit benignly in the exact centre of his desk. Curnow...had a point, he conceded, and not solely because of a lack of suspicious ticking. The servants hadn't seen anyone entering his rooms, but they were as busy as anyone, and some kept longer hours than Corvo himself; he couldn't expect them to be constantly on guard outside his chambers. And then there was the possibility of bribery.

 

"There was... a woman, some days back. She sent me a poem anonymously, and she's yet to reveal herself." The perfume on the note had been costly, though any perfume was costly with the blockade still in place in the harbour, and a noblewoman who could afford that would have no trouble paying for a servant's silence. Corvo had done little to ingratiate himself with the staff, as it was; if Emily was to be believed, most of them were terrified of him, and the legends that had bloomed in the wake of Emily's safe return.

 

There was something oddly random in the arrangement of the flowers, in the way they'd been shoved into the soil with an almost amateurish enthusiasm, that seemed at odds with the poem he'd received. But it must be the same admirer; he wasn't so vain as to assume there might be more than one person trying this kind of thing. "I suppose this could be a continuation of her attentions."

 

That last bit was forced out through gritted teeth. There was a certain abnormality to the situation, but it didn't justify Curnow's loud guffaws of laughter. There was nothing _funny_ about this. He'd called the man about a potential threat to Emily's well-being, and while it appeared he'd been mistaken there was still no need for levity. The vase _could_ have been dangerous.

 

Curnow took a steadying breath. "I see. Romantic pursuits, is it?" His lips twitched. "If that's the case, you should talk to Callista. I hear it's the fashion among nobles to send the objects of their affection flowers with hidden messages...different flowers stand for different things. That's nobles for you; just outright saying what they mean would be too common. Ask my niece, she likes that kind of puzzle, strange girl that she is."

 

" _Hidden messages_?" Well, it wouldn't be the oddest thing he'd heard of. He vividly remembered the Boyle party, the guests as hungry for scandal as cakes, each vying for the prize in 'least tasteful mask'. They'd looked at his, at the wire and metal and horrifying mismatched eyes, and talked about how quaint it was, how _daring_. They'd tittered, and whispered, and taken macabre pleasure in fearing him. One lady had gone so far as to offer herself to him, if he would agree to keep the mask on in her bed.

 

Yes, hidden messages disguised as flowers sat on the tamer end of the scale, if a noblewoman was involved.

 

He did wonder, though.

"Then how do you explain the asparagus?" The flowers and greenery were lovely, and likely their colours and positioning loaded with significance, but that didn't explain the stalks of asparagus that had been shoved haphazardly in amongst the rest. Nobles could be odd, sometimes for no better reason than their own whims, but this was pushing things a bit.

Curnow gave him a serious look. "Some kind of innuendo, perhaps?" His lips twitched again. "I'll just be going then, if the threat's been neutralised. Well done, Corvo, you didn't need my help at all."

"If I hear your Watchmen mocking me about this, there will be consequences," he said to Curnow's retreating back, resigning himself irritably to being their joke of the week.

 

"When I find out who sent this, we will have words, and none of them pleasant." Corvo tucked the offending pot under his arm. He'd planned to ignore it, but now things were _personal_ , and he had a reputation to uphold, as Royal Protector.

 

Callista was in the library with Emily, her lesson just drawing to a close.

 

"Do you have a moment, Callista? Hello Emily." He dumped the pot on the table between them, silently hoping it would crack on impact. As with so many other things, it proved a disappointment.

 

Frowning at him, Callista brushed an errant smear of dirt off her notebook. "Is there a reason you've just destroyed Miss Emily's homework?" She nodded pointedly at the paper under the pot, while opposite her Emily cheered.

"It's ruined! Corvo ruined my homework! That means I don't have to do it, right?"

 

Well, at least someone was happy.

"Forgive me, Callista, I didn't realise." She shook her head at his apology.

"I suppose our Empress can have a break, just this once. She does work hard." And while that hard work hadn't diminished Emily's natural enthusiasm, Callista herself was looking worn out. He knew she worried, about her uncle's safety, and whether Emily's lessons were giving her the preparation she needed to rule, but grey-faced exhaustion was becoming the standard expression for any of Emily's advisors. Corvo had all but stopped noticing it.

 

"I can come back later-"

"No, that's really not necessary." She reached out to stroke one of the clustered purple flowers. A small smile tugged at her lips. "Heliotrope," she said, almost to herself. "Garden variety, but still pretty. Are you trying to grow it, Corvo?"

 

He pulled up a chair at the table, obediently passing Emily a box of crayons as she gestured for it.

"Not exactly. It appeared on my desk earlier. Apparently there should be some sort of hidden message in there somewhere? Captain Curnow suggested I ask you."

"Oh, you have an admirer?" She didn't seem bothered by Corvo's scowl; it had been a long time since Callista had shrunk back from him in fear. A combination of his treatment of Emily, rescue of her uncle, and refusal to kill where it could be avoided, meant she treated him more as a younger brother than anything else. Some days it grated, but pleasantly so. Jessamine had been much the same.

 

"I'd appreciate it if we could pass over the teasing; your uncle has that in hand already. What does it mean?" He lowered his voice, glancing over at Emily to check she wasn't paying attention.  Her sketches usually absorbed her, rendering her deaf to anything else going on nearby, but someday soon she'd learn to exploit that assumption.

 

Predictably, Emily noticed the hushed tone, and immediately looked up.   
"Why are you whispering? Is this about adult things?"

Callista sighed "Of all the places they could have hidden her... no, Empress, we're discussing the language of flowers. Corvo would like me to tell him what these ones are saying."

"But they're not talking. They don't _say_ anything." Throwing the pot a disgusted look, Emily seized a purple crayon and started sketching flowers.

 

" _No_ , but they have meanings nonetheless. Actually, this could be a useful lesson for you; someday you might receive flowers of your own, and need to know their meaning. Perhaps I could set a test..."

 At the word 'lesson', Emily's attention visibly waned. She turned back to her drawing, dismissing their conversation as uninteresting.

 

Corvo raised his eyebrows at Callista. "Clever," he said, and she smiled.

"Devotion," she replied.

"I-what?"

Plucking one of the small, purple flowers, she held it up to show him. "Heliotrope means devotion, I think. It's been a while since I... well, since I thought such knowledge might be useful. And this," she pointed at a branch of spiky green leaves and blue berries. "This is juniper, it means protection. An odd sentiment, don't you think? Protection for the Royal Protector."

"A little ambitious, maybe," he said wryly. Not to mention _late_. Where had his benefactor been when he could have actually used their help in getting Emily home?

 

If Callista noticed the derision in his face, she chose not to comment on it. Instead, she lifted a branch of small, fuzzy yellow flowers. "Acacia. This isn't native to Gristol; they imported it from the Pandyssian Continent when I was a child. Since it was so rare, you wouldn't just see it handed over in broad daylight, or left where just anyone might find look. Obviously, people started using it to convey secret admiration."

 

Corvo processed that in silence for a moment. "So someone is... fond of me, but in secret. They're devoted, and they think they can offer _protection_ ," that last bit was tinged with more bitterness than he'd have liked. "How charming. And the asparagus? How do you explain that?"

"I don't. I've never heard of it being used in this manner." Callista stood abruptly. "But I can't not know, not when the rest of it is so strange. It just doesn't seem like the usual collection of sentiments. Roses and lilies and daisies, those are all common, but you don't have any of them here. And _asparagus_..." She turned and marched out of the room, as straight-backed as her uncle, muttering to herself.

 

Corvo considered waiting for her to return. Doubtless it would be interesting, for Callista at least, and though flowers weren't generally the sort of thing he had time for, they made a nice change from patrol schedules and weapon stock takes. It wasn't as though he could be accused of shirking, not with Emily sitting at the table next to him. Yes, there were guards outside, and several in the library itself, disguised as scholars. He knew them all by sight. He wasn't _needed_ , but it still wouldn't be frowned upon, if he took a few more minutes away from his more pressing duties.

 

Smothering a groan, Corvo stood.

"I'll see you at dinner, Emily. Or... possibly after. I'll certainly come and wish you a good night before you sleep." He hadn't missed an evening yet, and didn't intend to start now.

Emily gave him a vague wave, absorbed in her artwork. "Bye Corvo. Are you going to do something fun?"

 

He wasn't, and he told her so.

"Oh. That's a shame." She looked up from the paper to smile at him. "Will you leave the flowers behind? I haven't finished yet."

 

He left her to it. Whatever the sender's intentions, at least Emily got some joy out of the gift.

Callista returned a few minutes later, her nose buried in a large book.

"It says here that asparagus- Corvo?"

"He's gone." Frowning at the vase in front of her, Emily reached for the purple crayon. "I think he said something about needing to shout at Piero some more, in case it makes him cure the plague faster."

Callista flushed slightly. "I'm sure that's not necessary, Piero is trying his hardest, I know; he looks so tired these days." She stopped abruptly. Emily didn't look up from her paper.

"I wish he'd hurry up, I want to throw a ball to celebrate curing the plague. Though Corvo says that's a bit selfish. Do you think that's a bit selfish? I just want people to smile more."

 

"It seems a little callous, Empress, though I doubt anyone would object, if it meant the plague was cured. Don't do that," she frowned at the crayon held between Emily's lips for safekeeping. "It's ill-bred, and it looks silly."

Emily pouted at her. "Piero does it."

"I don't _care_ what Piero does." She glared unblinkingly until Emily removed the offending crayon and put it aside demurely.

 

"Did you find out what it's for? Is it something exciting?" Emily reached for the green crayon and began to draw long, pointed sticks in among the flowers. "They look like _spears._ Maybe it's a threat to Corvo's enemies?  That would be useful, since all of Corvo's enemies are my enemies."

 

It took a moment to decipher her meaning. "What-oh, the asparagus? I don't think it's meant to be like that, the book just says 'asparagus foliage'; do the stems count as foliage? Anyway, I presume Corvo's mysterious someone didn't understand the instructions. It's supposed to mean "fascination", apparently."

"Oh." Emily gave her picture a disgusted look, and pushed it aside. "Boring. And I can't draw the stems properly, so it's ruined."

 

There was a time for lessons, and a time for encouraging patience and hard work; Callista couldn't help but think that now was not one of those times. She held a hand out to Emily. "Well, seeing as nobody sent _us_ flowers, I rather think some consoling is in order, Empress Emily. What say you to scrounging pastries from the kitchen?"

Emily took her hand, glancing up at her suspiciously. "Won't I spoil my dinner?"

 

Even if Piero had enough time to think about such things, he probably wouldn't bother to learn the language of flowers just to please Callista. After all, flowers didn't have cogs and switches, and they didn't make sparks or smoke when you prodded them.

"I don't care," she announced. "We need consoling, and that takes precedence."

 

They left hand in hand. Behind them, the abandoned vegetation glowed luminescent blue for a moment, before drooping sadly over the side of the pot. A thin line of spiderweb cracks appeared over the porcelain.

 

Ten minutes later, a maid retrieved it, and threw it into the rubbish.


	2. Chapter 2

Corvo wasn't there to see his now-wilted flowers destroyed, though frankly he hadn't been that eager to keep them. He also wasn't present at dinner, where Callista spent a futile hour trying to interest her young Empress in the language of flowers and their symbolism, only to be asked if there was such a thing as a 'language of cutlasses and cannonballs, because that would be much more romantic'.

 

Had he actually been there to witness the conversation, Corvo would have endeavoured to make himself scarce as soon as possible anyway, though, to be fair, he probably wouldn't have chosen kidnapping as his method of escape.

 

"'Kidnapping' is an inaccurate representation of my intentions, Corvo. You are free to leave at any time."

Clinging tightly to the cold metal under his fingers, Corvo leant forward and stared pointedly down at the distant river. "You manipulative bas- whale, you know full well I can't, we're _at the top of Kaldwin's Bridge_." He wasn't normally fazed by heights, but so far as he knew there was no taller structure in Dunwall, or in any of the cities he'd visited for that matter. And did it have to be so windy? Was that intentional, perhaps a test of his nerve? He tightened his fingers, ignoring how numb the cold was making them. If the Outsider wanted discomfort, he could damn well find someone else to amuse him.

 

Corvo still struggled to find some justification, or anything vaguely resembling a logical reason for why he had been snatched away from his office without so much as a warning. He'd been reading the Watch reports from-

well, that wasn't entirely true. He'd tossed the reports aside and rested his head in his hands, eyes closed for a second or two. A brief interlude, not a nap, and he'd been about to drag the piles of paper back towards him, when...

 

His study had suddenly become a lot windier. The noise he'd made upon opening his eyes could charitably be referred to as a howl of horror, though he suspected it might have been high enough in pitch to resemble a shriek. The Outsider had been there, arms folded and black eyes ambivalent, waiting for Corvo to do something entertaining.

 

He clung to the edge and made himself look forward, up, anywhere that wasn't the chasm under his dangling legs. Forcing a smile was too much effort, so he settled for glaring viciously at the gulls as they swooped past.

 

"I don't know how they managed to build this monstrosity in the first place," Corvo said in a conversational tone. "There certainly hasn't been any attempt to maintain the thing since it was completed, I see; there's rust everywhere. If my luck recently is anything to go by, it'll collapse at any second and kill me in a brutally unnecessary manner." _I bet you'd like that_ , he thought, and then a sudden gust of wind buffeted him; he closed his eyes.

 

When he opened them, the Outsider was standing on the very edge, hands clasped behind his back as he peered down at the murky water below. "My dear, you are in no danger. I did not bring you here to kill you, and this bridge is not due to come apart for..." he tilted his head to the side and frowned down at the beam he was standing on. "Some eight years, I believe."

"How very comforting." He'd have to remember to tell someone about that. Not Emily, she had too much to concentrate on as it was; Sokolov might do, as long as Corvo made sure he understood that the plague still took priority.

 

"But the view is pleasant, at least?" The confusion in the Outsider's tone suggested he himself had no idea of what constituted a 'pleasant' view. Reasoning that cruelty would not be well-received, and sarcasm was probably beyond a whale's understanding, Corvo took pity on him.

"It's lovely. What are we doing here, exactly?"

The Outsider made a vague beckoning gesture, and a picnic basket appeared at Corvo's side with a soft _thump_.

"We are sharing a meal." Graceful as spilt oil, the Outsider perched cross-legged on the other side of the basket. "During which I believe we are supposed to admire the panorama and make comments on how delightful the sunset is on this fine evening."

 

Emboldened by a combination of lingering terror and sheer irritation, Corvo's reply was less than friendly. "It's not fine, it's _polluted_. That haze is from the factories, or the burning corpses of plague victims. Do you smell the smoke? _Can_ you?"

A vague smile flitted across the Outsider's face; it was not a pleasant expression.

"Can I, Corvo? Can I taste the ash, and the dust, the forgotten fragments of hearts that loved, lungs that drew breath, and eyes that bled? Black coal, rotting wood, secret papers; remnants of short lives made even shorter by one man's ambition. And through it all, the acrid stink of infested flesh immolated. It's all there, a cacophonic misery on the breeze that fights you just as you inhale it. The dead that burnt are in _you_ now. Isn't that an interesting thought?"

 

For all of half a minute, Corvo held his breath. It wasn't sensible, and it would ultimately have no effect other than allowing the Outsider to know just how discomfited he was, but he did it anyway.

Outsider's eyes _\- no, he couldn't use that anymore, not with the being himself sitting right there_.

He'd never even considered the smoke. Rather, he'd ever considered the practical side; the constant haze was easier to use as a metaphor for Dunwall's crumble into ruin, just one more sign of how far they had fallen.

 

They burnt the dead that wouldn't fit into the carts bound for the Flooded District. And he'd been _breathing-_

"How many of them were my fault, do you know?" He kept his eyes fixed on the horizon, hazy and distant as it was. "I tried not to, I swear it, but sometimes... there were more important things." Like power, though the Loyalists had done their best to call it other names, and it had been far too late when he'd finally seen through their euphemisms. "How many?"

 

"Enough, maybe. Or maybe not enough." Corvo didn't need to look; he could feel the Outsider's eyes settling on his hunched shoulders. "Maybe even too many."

 

It had to be a test. The action was over, things were quietening down, approaching normality. No doubt boredom was beginning to set in again.

 

"I think I understand." Corvo was pleased with the way his voice barely shook at all. "You want to see if I'll jump. Was I- Have I somehow ceased to interest you? You took Granny Rags' eyes, and Daud's dreams, but you want to see me splatter all over the cobblestones?"

 

Well, perhaps it wasn't so shameful, to let some of his rage shine through; after everything, he did _not_ deserve this. If not for the wind, and the fear that loosening his fingers from their death grip on the beam might unbalance him, he would have considered throwing a punch. It probably wouldn't have gained him anything other than severely bruised knuckles, but the gesture alone might have been worth the pain.

 

Sighing quietly, the Outsider reached over to pat him vaguely on the shoulder. "You mistake me, Corvo. I would be no happier seeing you jump to your death than I would be to witness the Void collapse upon me." He tiled his head to one side and gave Corvo a quizzical look. "What did you think?"

Corvo narrowed his eyes in response. "What did I think of what?"

"The spontaneous compliment; my first, I believe. Did you like it?"

 

There again, was the shaky sensation in the base of his gut that said there was something going on here, some force at work that he was entirely failing to comprehend. This wasn't normal, or what passed for normal in their exchanges. This was...different, _charged_ , in a way he didn't understand.

 

Perhaps it was simply the vertigo.

 

"Are you...feeling alright? You aren't sick or anything, are you?" Callista would have handled the query so much more tactfully, he thought with resignation. She'd have known how to be less blunt, more...concerned-sounding; Corvo had never been much good at offering comfort.

 

If the Outsider found the question odd, he didn't show it.

"I am as I always am, Corvo. Nothing less. In no way diminished. Shall we?"

 

There was food in the picnic basket. Actual, real-looking, real-smellingapricot tarts, identical to the ones made in the Tower's kitchens. And underneath those-

"Is that squid?" Corvo lifted the plate of tarts off for a closer look at the twitching mass of jelly-like flesh. It was a heap of rubbery tentacles, pale and raw-looking, and definitely not as dead as it should have been.

 

The thing was _dismembered_. It was also still moving.

"Did you just find that floating in the Void and decide to bring it along? You aren't actually going to eat it, are you? Because I certainly won't." The sickening squelches it made were very quickly putting him off the idea of apricot tarts, or food at all for that matter.

 

He shouldn't have been surprised by the Outsider's lack of concern.

"I had thought to bring something with a..." he hesitated, as though attempting to recall something, "A 'personal touch', I believe it was. Is there anything more personal than the indelible tie between hunter and prey?

 

He lifted one wriggling tentacle up the Corvo's face. "Slain by my own hands."

"Not to contradict you, or anything, but that doesn't seem very 'slain' to me." Corvo inched away gingerly. "Shouldn't it have stopped moving by now?"

The Outsider gave it a blank look. "Perhaps it is simply some form of muscle memory?"

"You mean you don't _know_?"

"It's not very interesting." He shrugged, and swallowed the twitching thing; Corvo tried not to cringe.

"Please tell me you didn't conjure the tarts from the Void."

 

"Those I procured from the Tower kitchens."

"You stole-"

"Not at all. I asked pleasantly, and the generous lady cook gifted them to me. She was happy to do so, I believe. She even went to far as to provide the basket, and helpfully point me towards the nearest exit with much enthusiasm."

 

Corvo mentally added, "find new cook" to his personal list of awful tasks he'd rather not have to worry about, but was duty bound to perform. No chance the woman would stick around after an encounter like that; more than likely she'd flee in the night, which meant he shouldn't get his hopes up for breakfast tomorrow. Resigned, he took a bite of apricot tart. It had the decency to taste normal; he chewed without enthusiasm. Food was food, especially if the next meal might very well not exist. He didn't have to be happy about it though, even if the Outsider was watching him carefully.

 

He seemed almost disappointed by Corvo's lack of elation.

 

"I think you have not enjoyed this day very much."

Corvo carefully finished the tart before running a tired hand through his hair. "I've had better, though for the life of me I can't recall when. It would have been years ago."

"You are unhappy."

"And _you_ are apathetic, though I'll grant you the excuse of not being very human. What a strange pair we make." Could anyone see them, he wondered. The ground was a long way away, and experience had shown him that people rarely looked up...but. A man dangling his legs off the highest point on Kaldwin's Bridge, surely somebody had noticed.

 

Perhaps it was such a common occurrence these days that the Watch had ceased to care.

 

At his side, the Outsider exhaled softly, a purposeful, crestfallen sound; too much like the waves, not enough like a man. The slip seemed unintentional.

"I will return you to your rooms, Corvo. Your exhaustion seeps through your every gesture, and I am not so needlessly cruel as to demand your involuntary attention." He stood slowly, making a vague gesture that vanished the picnic basket. "Come."

 

Fighting off a distant feeling of guilt, Corvo  took the proffered hand, and allowed it to pull him to his feet. The Outsider's fingers were... cool, as he'd expected, but still disturbingly real. Blindfolded, he wouldn't have been able to tell between him, and another man. Was that really so surprising?

 

"Sorry," he said on impulse. "If you were just trying to be kind, I'm sorry I ruined things."

"I don't think you did." Frowning, the Outsider lifted pale fingers to Corvo's cheek, lightly brushing over stubble. "I am...not entirely certain."

 

Corvo held still, and made himself keep breathing. Twice in one day, when he'd never been touched by this creature before that. There was a strange curiosity in the gesture, in the way neither of them seemed entirely sure how they were meant to proceed; for a brief, mad moment he considered bridging the gap between them, just to see...

 

The fingers trailed higher, brushing over his eyelids as he closed them. The wind still buffeted his figure, worse now he was standing, but he hadn't been brought here to die. Which left the question of, _why_.

"What are you-"

 

And then there was nothing at all. Corvo opened his eyes and found himself in his office, reaching for someone who was no longer there. The papers on his desk still lay in untidy piles, his sword was where he'd tossed it earlier; nothing had changed except the clock. He'd vanished for a few hours, and the world hadn't noticed in the slightest. It was unnerving.

 

But on the other hand, it was also time for Emily's story. Shrugging off disorientation where it mixed with soft, barely acknowledged disappointment, Corvo grabbed his sword as he went past (he couldn't be too careful, he could _never_ be too careful anymore), and went to wish her good night.

 

The next day drifted by with a pleasant lack of surreptitious flower deliveries and utterly inexplicable kidnappings. The plague still wasn't cured, the soldiers still needed paying, and the Abbey remained useless, but on the other hand the cook hadn't actually left. If anything, she seemed more enthusiastic than ever, going about her tasks with a newfound fervency that bordered on fanaticism. Corvo shrugged to himself and deemed the day Better Than Average.

 

 _Note to self_ , he thought. _Keep an eye out for suspicious thefts of blue or purple fabric, and never let any Overseers into the kitchens, ever. Also, if standard of food  at meals rises significantly, do not inform the Outsider; he doesn't need a reason to be any more smug._

 

There was squid among the dishes presented for dinner. It sat in some kind of no doubt creative marinade, slightly apart from the usual dishes.

 

This batch lacked the raw, freshly-ripped apart look of the last he'd seen, and it didn't wriggle when he prodded it suspiciously with a fork.

"Corvo, I'm _trying_ to ensure Emily uses suitable table etiquette at every meal, regardless of company, and it really doesn't help when you won't set her a good example." Callista's scowl could have made plague rats retreat, whimpering apologies. "Would you please stop stabbing at that poor fish like it's offended you?"

 

Ignoring Emily's giggles, Corvo helped himself to a spoonful of the squid with as much dignity as he could muster. He didn't _not_ like the stuff, and if he didn't look at it too closely, he might stop imagining that it moved slightly. It seemed a small rebellion, refusing to allow something so idiotic to faze him as the Outsider had no doubt intended.

 

Salt, and sea; a vinegary tang. He swallowed the mouthful and absently thought, _Ah. So that's what he would have tasted like._

_Wait. What?_

 

Captain Curnow had to smack him roughly on the back several times to prevent him from choking to death on the squid. Corvo thanked him, still gasping for breath, and silently throwing a creative variety of curses in the man's direction. He had no idea where the errant thought had come from, but there was clearly something terribly wrong with him, and frankly death would have been preferable.

 

This was the sentiment he repeated for the rest of the evening, through the last reports, and Emily's bedtime story. By the time he allowed himself to collapse for the night, it had almost become the truth.

 

The next few days were remarkably quiet by Corvo's standards, though admittedly he defined 'quiet' by the total number of riots that didn't break out. The plague cure was still nonexistent, and he'd been firmly informed by Callista that if he approached Piero again, she would be _displeased_.

 

Callista might not fear him anymore, but he was very rapidly learning to fear Callista.

 

He still called it a quiet day when Cecelia's letter was handed to him by a terrified maid, who fled as soon as he took it from her trembling fingers.

 

_Hello, Corvo_

_I bet you didn't know I could write; Lydia never did, or she'd have had me doing the accounts as well._

_I hope you're healthy, and haven't caught the plague, though I guess I'd have heard about that, you being the Royal Protector and all._

_Look at me, rambling as usual, when there's more important things to do._

_Corvo, I can't tell you how I know this, so you'll just have to believe me, but Miss Emily_

_I mean, the Empress is in danger. There's a lord who's been keeping in touch with some nobles in Morley for a while now, and he's going to try and send them papers. Not sure what's in them all, only that there are detailed maps of the Tower, and all sorts of tables and charts with numbers in them. My friend who found them, she can't read, you see, but she knows it's not the sort of thing you should be sending off to foreign lands. These strangers have no business knowing where the Empress sleeps._

_I hope I'm not wasting your time. I don't think I am. Lydia used to say I was as jumpy as a mouse, but I don't believe there's any such thing as overcautious. Not anymore._

_Could you check, for my sake?_

_Cecelia_

_P.S. Maybe we could meet up one day, have a drink or something. I hope that's not too forward of me to ask. I miss talking to someone who'd actually listen._

_P.P.S. I know it's not always possible to settle things quietly, but please don't hurt any of the servants, the maids especially. Thanks, Corvo._

 

Attached was a second sheet of dirty paper, with a name and an address in the Estate District, along with a few thoughtful details regarding which room he was most likely to find the incriminating papers in, and a safe combination.

"Cecelia, what in the Outsider's name have you been _doing_?" He said it quietly, because the servants might be everywhere, and he was only just beginning to realise what a fool he'd been to overlook them.

 

Still. Cecelia had...what? Friends? Contacts, in noble households, and even in the Tower itself, if the maid who'd delivered her letter was anything to go by. Did she understand the importance of those people, when he himself had not?

 

Corvo leant out of the alcove he'd ducked into to read the missive, checking the corridor and through the nearby walls for approaching people before ripping the message into small pieces. He'd burn them that evening, before he left for the Estate District. And when he returned, it might be time to hunt down a certain quiet serving girl for that drink she'd offered. Luck often came from the most unexpected of directions, and he could always use a little more of it.

 

Nightfall found him crouched on the rooftop of a mansion, frowning across the street at the house opposite. Too early yet to try anything, with most of the lights on and everyone still out of bed, but he'd wanted time to plan around the guard patrols. No Tallboys to worry about, at least; they couldn't spare the whale oil. And Curnow's increased patrols meant fewer Weepers hiding in dark corners and quiet alleyways.

 

He wore his mask. It had never been officially linked to Corvo Attano, whatever rumour said, and its ghastly visage often bought him a little extra time as his opponents froze in superstitious terror. Piero had done his job extremely well.

 

At his side, the air seemed to shimmer, black flecks of nothing dancing past his vision as the Outsider materialised without warning. Corvo smiled up at him in greeting, before remembering that it wouldn't be seen.

"Hello," he said quietly, glancing down at the street to check the guards were out of hearing range. "I didn't realise petty robbery was interesting enough to warrant you showing up in person. Nothing happening in the Void this evening?"

 

"Don't be obtuse, Corvo. The Void is by its very nature uneventful; I am the only thing that happens."

"...I see." He was carrying something, Corvo noticed. A cloth-wrapped bundle, too small to be a rune; a bone charm, perhaps? "And has boredom driven you to start up your very own delivery service?" He nodded at the bundle, and waited for a reprimand.

 

None appeared to be forthcoming; the Outsider held the bundle out to Corvo.

"My research indicates that our last encounter was unsuccessful, and that I should endeavour to salve your wounded pride through the means of a gift. This is for you."

Corvo took the bundle, eyeing it warily. "Salve my- what have you been _reading_?"

"Open it," the Outsider insisted.

"My pride wasn't wounded, you simply picked a poor time to be eccentric." Corvo pushed the purple fabric aside. Its gold embroidery suggested that it had once been used in one of the Outsider's shrines, though apparently he'd decided to repurpose it as gift-wrapping.

 

The object inside was indeed carved from faded whalebone, though it was unlike any charm he'd ever come across. It lacked the soul-deep rumble he'd come to associate with such artefacts, the vibrations that both soothed his nerves and set his teeth on edge.

 

"It's...well, it's lovely. What does it do?"

The Outsider gave him a blank look."I don't understand the question."

"You know, attributes and things?" Corvo turned the odd thing over in his hands, running a thumb across the exquisitely carved anchor hanging off one end. There were other shapes he recognised, tangled up in carved ropes like those used in ships' rigging. A whale (ironic, he thought, considering the material used here), a keyhole, a...heart. Or, rather, he presumed it was a heart. Some kind of internal organ, though he generally tried to avoid becoming familiar with people's insides. It looked a bit like the Heart. Valves, and stringy bits he didn't have a name for; doubtless it was accurate, whatever it was. One end of the object had a scooped shape, suitable for gouging. A weapon? A charm?

 

Some kind of test, then. Another game to see how quick, how clever he could be. Sea motifs, the keyhole could mean treasure, or secrets maybe, and the heart...

"Does it... let me breathe under water?" he hazarded. "Or possess whales, perhaps? Is it some kind of map? This is difficult, you need to give me a clue."

 

Something like disbelief appeared on the Outsider's face.

"This is a spoon, Corvo. I was not aware it was required to posses supernatural abilities."

"A spoon."

"That is what I said, yes."

 

Holding it up to the light, Corvo had to admit that the object had a certain spoon-ish shape to it, buried under the decoration.

"But why is there an anchor hanging off the end? Since when have spoons needed to anchor themselves anywhere?" He wasn't going to bother asking about the rest of it; if the explanation was actually something that he could comprehend, then he probably wouldn't like it much. That was the way these things seemed to work.

 

The light was poor, but Corvo thought he saw the Outsider's shoulders slump a little.

"Strange," he said quietly. "I could have sworn the custom was still being practiced in this day and age; it seems only yesterday that it was a common thing, a thing of _meaning_... It originated in what you know as Morley, perhaps it is still in existence there."

 

Corvo was struck with an inexplicable feeling  of failure. He'd said the wrong thing, though for the life of him he couldn't tell what the right thing would have been, only that he had managed to miss the point completely.

"Perhaps," he said agreeably. "It's very pretty, I'll grant you that." And it was. Hand-carved, unless he missed his mark completely, and the delicate etching spoke of time invested, skill well-honed. "Did you make this yourself? What am I meant to do with it?"

 

Shrugging, the Outsider turned away. "A great many subjects have attracted my interest over the years. This was one, for a while, though it appears the skill is now redundant." Disappointment bled through his usual ambivalence, matched by the slump of his shoulders. "And I have no interest in what you choose to do with it. Keep it, or do not. In the grand scheme of things, it has no importance whatsoever."

 

Corvo had to wonder how long it had been since the Outsider had lied to someone. Clearly, it wasn't a skill he used often.

 

He tucked the spoon into a pocket on the inside of his coat, where he could feel its odd shape pressing lightly against his chest. "There. So I won't lose it."

"It has no importance," the Outsider repeated; it wasn't any more convincing than the first time he'd said it. Corvo settled for nodding agreeably, before turning back to the street he'd intended to watch. There weren't any guardsmen in sight, and the lights in his target's mansion were gradually being extinguished.

 

Soon. He rolled his shoulders, and settled back into a crouch.

"By the by, I haven't heard from the mysterious admirer that so offended you with their poem. I thought you'd be pleased to know." He kept his tone light, amused.

There was no inflection whatsoever in the Outsider's reply.

"I am well aware that you haven't, Corvo. You will receive no further communications from the lady in question; she has chosen to flee the city in favour of pursuing a new life on an entirely different continent."

He'd wondered about that. Well, at least she wasn't dead. Corvo supposed he should be grateful for her sake, though if the Outsider was intent on removing every single potential romantic interest he might ever have...

 

"How pleasant for her," he said, a little sourly. "But you can't keep doing that for the rest of my life, you know. Some day, I might actually _want_ to be involved with another person, and then what will you do?" He regretted the words immediately.

 

Something dark and vicious flitted across the Outsider's face; his features seemed to distort, leaving behind a new visage; cold, dark and bestial. The life bled from hollow pits where his eyes had been, and his teeth, _so many teeth-_

 

Corvo jerked away, falling flat on his backside and scrambling to further increase the distance between himself and the _thing_ he'd mistaken for a...friend. In the back of his mind, behind the paralysing fog of terror, he found himself reciting half-remembered words, an exercise in futility that he'd later find sickening,

_-it is here that we make our stand as a righteous force against the growing darkness. It is here that we unite against the spirits of the unknown that would drag us screaming into the night-_

The Outsider turned away, pacing with quick, urgent steps to the opposite side of the roof. He stood still, frozen with his back to Corvo, apparently staring off into the night. The sea, Corvo thought distantly. Hidden behind the houses and the second-hand glow of street lamps, but it lay in that direction. He fought the urge to Blink away as quietly as possible, using every drop of the Remedy he'd brought for emergencies to flee back to the Tower without a backward glance.

 

The small whalebone spoon lay still in his pocket, pressed against his heart. He didn't move.

 

"Forgive me, Corvo." The Outsider spoke with his usual flat tones, his face still averted. "That was uncalled for. Rest assured that at no point did I intend you any harm, however it might have appeared." When he turned back, his face was its normal, washed-out self. Corvo clenched his fists to hide their trembling, and carefully didn't flinch as the Outsider approached.

"I'm glad to hear it," he said, as coolly as he could manage. "Don't do it again, please. It's... unnerving."

 

His shoulders hunched, Corvo turned his eyes back to the street, and adopted an unblinking interest in the Watchman that had just wandered into view. It was childish behaviour, he acknowledged. Emily was prone to turning her back on people who upset her, feigning total ignorance of their presence until she was placated, but he should have been above such a reaction. Never mind that he'd been terrified, convinced he was seconds from death. He glared down at the guard, and hoped the hint would be taken, and he'd look up to find himself alone.

 

"I have lived for a very, very long time," the Outsider said abruptly. "I have seen Empires rise and fall, buildings tower and crumble, the deaths of countless people, and it has all been so very _simple_. I cannot understand what makes this different. Why is it _difficult_?"

"Difficult?" Corvo frowned at the guard strolling past in the street below, hands in his pockets. Just one more ill-trained volunteer, one of those louts who signed up for the rations and the elixir, and then made it a point to avoid actual work as much as possible.

"I don't think it'll be particularly difficult. He's certainly not paying attention, and if his comrades were any better they'd ensure he wasn't so useless. You've seen me defeat greater obstacles."

 

"...Of course." Corvo was struck once again by the niggling sensation that they'd been holding two different conversations, and he'd missed all the important bits. Still, there was a thickness to the air between them that felt a bit like guilt, and a lot like apology, and he allowed himself to relax slightly.

 

In the street below, a second guard strolled into view and hailed his fellow.

"Shall we gather for whiskey and cigars tonight?"

The first officer snorted. "Where the _fuck_ are we going to get those? Blagged some off a drunk, did you?"

"Shaddup. It's Slackjaw's treat, wants to thank us for our service to this fine city, he says. S'a present for those who support his _enterprise_."

 

Smiling coldly behind the mask, Corvo cracked his knuckles one by one. He'd planned to avoid them, and save himself a lecture from Curnow if he was spotted and reported, but turncoats didn't deserve that leniency. Wonderful. His evening was made all the easier for the lack of regret he would suffer the next day.

 

It was said that one could become accustomed to anything, given time enough. Perhaps that was true, but Blinking never failed to take Corvo's breath away. He'd learnt to expect that, allow for it; a part of him hoped the rush never faded. In the spaces between moments, as he _shifted_ between seconds, he could almost taste the Void. The addiction had been instant.

 

He didn't kill the men, of course. Let him never be so far gone that he ceased to look for an alternative to death; he suffered nightmares enough as it was, and Emily needed a role model who still maintained some small vestige of conscience. He must never forget that, though the rush was seductive, and more so when he shaped his skills towards violence. Did the Outsider know that? Was it all some convoluted test of will?

 

He threw one of the unconscious guards over his shoulder, looking around for a convenient bin to hide him  and his companion in-

_it would have been so much easier to conceal the evidence in the filthy water, or the bellies of rats_

and sighed in resignation. They'd have to go in an alleyway, carefully placed on top of boxes to thwart the vermin. There was never a convenient rubbish bin when he wanted one; perhaps he could suggest that to someone, whoever was in charge of keeping the streets clean. Did they even have a person for that role? Perhaps that explained the frankly shocking amounts of decaying garbage on every street corner.

 

Footsteps directly behind him caused a brief instant of shock, and he reached for his sword before turning to see the Outsider giving him a long-suffering stare.

"Where would you like...this... placed?" He had the other guard slung over his shoulder, and didn't look entirely comfortable about it. Something about the awkward way he was trying to touch the body as little as possible suggested it was something he was unaccustomed to. Behind his mask, where it couldn't cause offense, Corvo allowed himself a small smile. Someone was trying to apologise, unless he missed his mark wildly.

"If I'd known you were capable of being _helpful_ , I'd have press-ganged you into service a long time ago. This way."

 

It appeared that the trick to securing the Outsider's cooperation was not all that dissimilar to convincing Emily that, yes, she did want an extra helping of vegetables, and no, she did not want a crossbow for her birthday, and she especially did not want one with sparkly incendiary bolts. So long as he was firm, and allowed no room for questions, obedience seemed to just...happen.

 

 The Outsider trailed behind like a particularly unenthusiastic puppy, and when they laid the bodies side by side on a stack of boxes Corvo had to resist the temptation to tell him he'd done well.

"Thank you for that," he said instead. "I'm not sure why you've suddenly decided participation holds more appeal than spectating, but thank you."

 

The Outsider frowned down at the unconscious man he'd been carrying. "I never interfere," he said, almost to himself. "I never assist, and I never rescue, though I have been begged to do so on numerous occasions. I do not think I will be making a habit of it, and certainly not for any other. That I felt inclined to take part in your mission tonight is...fascinating."

 

"You're easily amused, then."

"You interest me; what other amusement should I require?"

There was still a distance between them, an echo of breached trust and overstepped boundaries. Corvo wasn't sure what to do about it. Had the Outsider been as human as he pretended, they might have painted over the awkwardness with forced joviality and small-talk, and pretended indifference until it became reality, but...

 

There was no harm in trying. After a second's hesitation, he slipped his mask off, and attempted an honest smile.

 

"Are you ever going to tell me _why_ I'm so very interesting? You claim Sokolov is a little too predictable, and I think I can understand that...almost. But Hiram Burrows might have been equally interesting; Admiral _Havelock_ might have been interesting. Or...Callista, maybe.  She has dreams she put aside for duty, dreams she never quite abandoned; imagine what she could do with the powers you gave me!"

 

He didn't have to fake the curiosity; he didn't honestly expect to receive an answer.

 

The Outsider stared off down the alleyway, again in the direction of the sea. When he spoke, it seemed to come from a great distance.

 

"The Void is so very, very still, Corvo. Stagnant, unchanging; in all of my existence, the only ripples I have seen come from you. Your world, your people, you are all so small and fleeting, but somehow you shape _eternity_." His eyes met Corvo's; it felt like drowning in ink. "You are like the sunlight, dappled and speckled on the surface of the sea. I, who know only the unending form and feature of the Void, I look up and see the shifting patterns that you weave with every breath you draw, and I _wonder_. And wonder-struck, I am drawn to you and your scintillating colours, as you shine, bright and brief upon the depths of the abyss. _That_ , Corvo, is why you are interesting."

 

The Outsider stepped in close, and laid a hand on the fabric of Corvo's coat, over his heart. He could feel the odd whale-bone spoon digging into his skin.

"Keep it nearby, Corvo." There was an odd smile tugging at the corners of his lips; not unappealing so much as _different_. "It was once given as a gesture of affection, and a talisman of good will. Who knows? Perhaps it will bring you luck; you have greater need of that than any other man I have encountered. It would displease me greatly to lay your death at the door of mere misfortune."

 

His breath was cold on Corvo's cheeks, stinging slightly like the sea breeze. They were much too close for comfort, and Corvo couldn't find the will to move.

 

The Outsider pressed a little harder against the fabric of his coat. "Your heart," he said quietly. "I can feel it quicken. Are you afraid of me?"

"No." Corvo swallowed, told himself it was true. It wasn't untrue. "You have no reason to harm me. I just- I don't understand what's going on. What are you trying to accomplish?" _What are you doing to me?_ , a small part of him gasped.

"I'm not sure." It was whispered, in a breath that smelt of brine and incoming rain. Corvo parted his lips, licking them nervously, and saw the black eyes dart down to follow his tongue.

 

"I'm not sure," the Outsider repeated, and then he was stepping back, frowning. "The book didn't say-"

He disappeared.

 

Corvo took a long, deep breath of muggy Dunwall air, oddly disoriented. It didn't seem fair that the Outsider could come and go as he pleased without so much as a warning, let alone a farewell.

"A simple, 'please be careful' would have sufficed, thanks very much!" He shouted it at the empty alleyway, confused irritation overruling caution. Predictably, there was no response.

 

He finished the evening's mission half-heartedly; nobody stumbled upon him, the safe combination hadn't been changed, and the evidence he found would go to Curnow before he retired for the night. In the morning their unfortunate traitor would be arrested, and doubtless executed for his crimes against Emily. Wonderful. Perfect.

 

Boring.

 

The whale-bone spoon was a comfortable weight against his heart; when he returned to his bedroom in the early hours of the morning, Corvo removed it from its pocket, and tucked it under his pillow.

 

He didn't dream at all.


	3. Chapter 3

The looming clouds promised days of rain, and soon. Days of miserable Watch patrols working half-heartedly, of rats renewing their interest in the Tower's warm, dry larders, of daylight hours wasted in frantic hunts for Emily when boredom drove her to hide and watch in amusement as her protectors tore the place apart. Uncollected garbage would wind up strewn all over the streets, and illness would spread more quickly; Corvo cast a futile glare at the grey sky, and resigned himself to another week in which he would find very little to enjoy.

 

The Outsider hadn't made an appearance in seventeen days. He'd counted, then berated himself, then counted again. Several evenings spent combing the city for runes and charms had ended up being useless; he found both, but none prompted a visit from his inhuman benefactor. Corvo had gradually come to the worrying conclusion that he'd caused offense somehow in their last encounter (he'd actually conscripted the Outsider into helping him dispose of bodies, with his own hands. Had he gone mad? How could he have been so stupid?), and the silence showed no signs of abating.

 

He started talking aloud to himself in his rooms, addressing remarks at thin air and invariably feeling a bit stupid when no reply was forthcoming. It didn't stop him from trying again every evening. Among the Tower's human residents he was even more reticent than normal; the change was upsetting Emily, and thus prompting stern glares from Callista, but he couldn't bring himself to do anything to fix it.

 

This was childish behaviour; he didn't care. The treacherous voice in the back of his mind that said he'd become boring, that he'd probably been replaced by a newer model, was a constant companion. He wondered if the others who'd received the Outsider's mark had felt his abandonment quite so keenly. Surely not.

 

The whalebone spoon was a weight in his pocket when he left the Tower, as it had been every day since he'd received it. He kept it nearby in the night, and his dreams had been empty every time; it was only now that he started to wonder if the gift had been meant as a farewell. That morning, made bitter by thoughts of abandonment, Corvo had tried to leave it behind on his desk as he departed. He'd got no further than the end of the hallway before sprinting back to grab the damned object. Perhaps it didn't actually have any magical attributes outside of the ones he imagined. Perhaps his dreams had cleared on their own.

 

He couldn't be certain; it seemed wiser to carry it anyway, just in case.

 

Thunder rumbled in the distance as the houses he walked past became steadily more decrepit, the patrols less frequent. He'd been avoiding this area since Emily's coronation, in flesh at least. But there was no longer a good reason to stay away.

 

Cecelia had written again; it was past time they talked, though _why_ she'd insisted on the Hound Pits as the ideal location for a reunion escaped him. She'd never struck him as particularly insensitive, and he knew for a fact that there were two raised mounds of earth in the yard that well-represented all the reasons he'd be better off staying away. If the pub were to be decreed a place of heresy and burnt to the ground by Overseers, he would rest a little easier.

 

Still. She'd shown herself to be loyal to Emily, and the Empress was what mattered. It wasn't as though he had anyone else who cared for his wellbeing.

 

"Corvo!" Cecelia didn't appear to have changed; quiet, undemonstrative, she waved to him from one of the Hound Pits' doorways and waited for him to approach. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"

"It has indeed."

Callista and Emily had both thrown their arms around him once they'd realised all was well; Curnow had offered a very firm handshake, and Samuel had thumped him on the back so hard that Corvo momentarily feared broken ribs. Cecelia stood apart, fidgeting.

 

"About as long as you spent in Coldridge, right? Though you look a lot more...alive than you used to. No mask or anything, either. That's good."

"Do you think so?" Momentarily torn between bowing in greeting, or shaking her hand, Corvo hesitated on the doorstep until she beckoned him inside.

"I think some things are better buried and not dug up again."

 

Corvo nodded in silent agreement, following her slight frame down the corridor with feigned ease, while his nerves grated and his fingers twitched for the weight of a weapon. It wasn't Cecelia, far from it, but the Hound Pits was not a place he'd expected to see again. In many ways it was worse than Coldridge had been. He'd thought the pub a sanctuary, a place to heal himself and his city; that had been a lie. And he had been a fool.

 

"I'm sorry it's not neater," Cecelia said over her shoulder, indicating the familiar fading wallpaper, and less familiar scorch marks in the floor. "Lydia would have an absolute fit if she could see this place now, though I guess that doesn't matter, her being dead and all. We're doing the best we can, but it's hard."

 

Movement, out of the corner of his eye. Corvo made himself turn slowly, clenching his gloved hands. He'd remembered Cecelia's discomfort with the Outsider's mark, and made a conscious effort to hide it, but if this was some kind of trap...

 

A boy in ragged trousers and a patched jacket pushed past, shoving a sack at Cecelia.

"Elixir," he muttered. "An' Slackjaw says the price is to go up again." He turned and vanished back down the corridor; Corvo heard him clatter up the stairs.

"Again?" He turned to find Cecelia peering into the sack with worried eyes. "I don't know how Havelock did it, truly I don't. How he made sure we all had plenty, and I can't do the same."

"All? How many..." Corvo trailed off as they entered the pub itself, and he found himself the subject of scowls from all directions.

 

There had to be at least twenty, and for the most part they were young. Girls and boys, and all from poor families, if they had any family left living at all. He'd seen plenty of them since the plague began; Curnow's cells were full of their kind. The desperate, and the abandoned.

"I didn't realise you'd started your own gang," he remarked to Cecelia, as she carefully placed the sack behind the bar and pulled out two nearly clean glasses.

"I wouldn't dare," she said. "Slackjaw wouldn't allow it, and I'm not a leader. I wouldn't want to be." She filled the glasses with dark ale, the ease in her movements reflecting years of practice. "After you left with the Empress, I came back here. Dug up the coins I'd hid, and I thought maybe I could clean the place up."

 

Cecelia perched on one of the bar stools, and Corvo mirrored the gesture, waiting. She had the air of someone who needed to talk.

"So here I was, scrubbing the floors, and some kids show up, a brother and sister. And they said they ran errands for the Watch, and the Golden Cat, whoever had coin. If I'd let them have a roof for the night, they could pay rent; not the most illustrious of customers, but who am I to complain."

 

The ale was thin, watery, but Corvo sipped it anyway; Cecelia hardly seemed to notice its quality. Her eyes were distant, fixed to the wall. "Then they came back with friends, offered me the same deal. And I knew they'd been scrounging elixir wherever they could, too scared to go near Slackjaw and his thugs, so I thought... maybe we could do a trade, you know? They'd see things while they were running messages, like who still has fancy paintings, and who still bothers to lock their safes. Slackjaw might sell me elixir for that kind of thing." She smiled slightly. "I was right. So we had enough for everyone."

"But it's not just children, is it?" Corvo nudged her gently, careful to keep the gesture harmless. He could feel every eye in the room fixed on him. "You have people elsewhere, too."

 

Cecelia shrugged. "Sure. I got some work on the side, delivering elixir to rich households; you know, a lot of them don't bother buying the expensive stuff anymore? They just order from Slackjaw, and hoard their coin. So I deliver, and I talk to the maids and servants at the house, and they tell me things, like house gossip. And I started hearing other things, not so innocent-like. Now I know people in lots of places; I guess everyone's so afraid, they're desperate to talk to a friendly face. Nobody's ever seen _me_ as a threat."

 

"And you may well have saved Emily's life." Finishing his drink and trying not to shudder at the taste, Corvo gestured towards the sack of elixir. "You get all this from Slackjaw?"

Cecelia shrugged, slurping her ale in a manner which would have made Wallace cringe. "There's not really anywhere else we can go; stealing the real stuff is too much of a risk."

"But Slackjaw's elixir isn't always safe. It's too accessible, too easy to contaminate," Corvo murmured, looking around the room. He received a lot of glares in return, though Cecelia's relaxation seemed to be keeping anything worse than glares at bay. "Don't you worry about how it's made?"

"Yes, of course." Cecelia followed his gaze. "I worry all the time these days, but what is there to do? Nobody can afford the cost of pure elixir, nobody. And with Slackjaw raising his own prices..."

 

They sat in silence for a moment, and then Corvo made his decision.

"No," he said abruptly. "No, you'll have pure Sokolov elixir, and food too. Send one of your...friends in the Tower to me tomorrow with some ideas for delivery. I'll need to know how many people you're housing, and I suppose you'll need a little extra on top of that, for bribes perhaps, since we've no coin to spare whatsoever..."

 

Cecelia eyed him with concern. "Corvo, are you alright? I mean, really alright, not just whatever you pretend to be so nobody worries about you. Why would you do anything for us?"

"Payment."

"For...what? News?" Realisation was slowly dawning on her pale face. "But you have someone else to get that for you, right? A Royal Spymaster. I hear there are nobles fighting each other for the position; guess they think you've all forgotten Lord Burrows."

Corvo smiled, bitterness mingling with a small, genuine amount of affection for the young woman who was so very well informed on the nobility's inner workings.

 

"I've always found it laughable," he mused. "The Royal Spymaster, decked out in a bright, distinguishable uniform, parading around parties and formal occasions where anyone can see him. Surely that defeats the purpose? And of course, it was Hiram's downfall in the end." Pushing his empty glass aside, he made sure to look Cecelia squarely in the eyes. Anything else would be taken for deceit, by a woman who'd spent her life watching people try to manipulate her. She deserved better.

 

"We'll have our noble Spymaster, and he can prance around to his heart's delight, and keep the other blue-blooded harpies sufficiently worried. But Emily needs more than that. And I can't help but think that a proper spymaster is someone you don't see; the person nobody ever sees. Someone who hears things, and makes friends in odd places, and hasn't the faintest idea how to curtsey." His smile widened as Cecelia's jaw dropped. "I really can't think of anyone more qualified."

 

"You _mean_ that?"

"Yes." He'd need to tell a few people, starting with Emily and Curnow, but he couldn't foresee any real objection. If it didn't work, they'd lost very little, and if it did...

"Uh...right. I'll do my best, I guess." Cecelia stared down at her fingers, then nodded to herself. "No, I _promise_. You won't regret believing in me, Corvo, you really won't."

"I know, or I wouldn't have asked." He'd never really seen her smile, he thought. That was a shame; it suited her. She wouldn't wear it long, however, once the stress started to mount up, and she realised that her new role was just another form of servitude.

 

Nobody retired from the role of Spymaster. Nobody left the job alive. He should have felt more guilty about using her this way, after all she'd done, but for Emily's sake he would bear it.

 

At his side, Cecelia sat up straight.

"Oh, I almost forgot! Should have told you as soon as you arrived; I'm so stupid sometimes, I can't believe- someone's been asking questions about you, Corvo. To me, and to Samuel as well."

"Really?" Corvo winced, guilt settling into the base of his stomach. "I haven't spoken to Samuel in an age, is he alright? I should apologise, after the risk he took to save my life, and Emily's."

Cecelia shook her head dismissively. "He knows you're busy; I don't think he ever expects to hear from you again, but he'll keep your secrets anyway."

"So a stranger asked you both about me?"

 

Biting her lip, Cecelia stared down at her lap, discomfort showing in her tensed shoulders.

"Not you, exactly. He came by a week ago, wanted to know about your parents, of all things, and he seemed really confused when we wouldn't help out. Samuel threw rotting fishes at him until he went away." Her lips twitched. "I wish I'd been there to see that. I just said I had nothing to tell him, and that he should leave. Creepy man. Creepier than Lord Pendleton, and _he_ liked to grab at me and Lydia when there was nobody to see."

 

"A strange man, asking about my parents?" He only knew of one person odd enough to do something like that, but did he have to be so devious? Surely he could have asked Corvo himself?  Did he find Corvo's presence so repugnant, so worthless that he would not so much as appear to ask a question? "Pale skin, dark hair, black eyes-"

"Yes, that's him. Who is he?"

"A friend. An eccentric friend, but he generally means well. I wonder what he was really after. "

 

Corvo pushed his chair back with no small amount of bitterness, forcing a smile onto his face. "Thank you, Cecelia. I'll make sure he doesn't bother you again." The lie stung as he spoke it; hopefully she wouldn't notice.

 

As he left the pub, swinging the door closed with unnecessary force, the promised rain began to fall.

 

Back at the Tower, Corvo avoided as many people as possible, outside of what it took to arrange Cecelia's supplies. Curnow heard his explanation with no small amount of scepticism, but he wasn't in a position to argue, considering the arrest her information had led to. Emily just blinked at him and agreed. There were shadows under her eyes that matched his own, and she barely protested when he sent her to bed early.

 

He fell asleep at his desk around midnight, reports and letters creasing under his face in a way that would annoy him later.

 

In the second hour the storm ceased and the whales came.

Corvo woke to strange sounds, echoing repetitively in the distance; odd rumbles, barks, low, haunting _wails_ that spilt the still air and stopped his breath. Slightly muffled, from somewhere outside. He ran to the balcony, throwing open the doors and froze, stunned.

 

Movement in the distance, in the moonlit water, and lights speckled all over the shoreline as people clustered to see the display before them.

 

_Whales_. And they were singing.

 

He couldn't count them; it might have been ten, or just as easily fifty. They surfaced and dove, writhing in something approximating a dance, a spectacle of skill and spontaneity. The crash of water breaking over fins and tails, and underlying it all was the whalesong.

 

Corvo leant over the edge of the rail, staring out across the water; it was impossible, it had to be, because however still the night was, they shouldn't be able to hear this. Whales couldn't come so close to the city, and if they could they would not. The creatures weren't unintelligent. They knew the threat of the whaling ships well enough to avoid them. And they never sang where the ships might hear. It was _impossible_.

 

"Aren't they beautiful?"

 

He turned to find the Outsider in his rooms, perched oddly on the back of a chair, feet resting on the seat itself. _That's ridiculous_ , Corvo thought idly, _he's seen me sitting in it plenty of times. It's not as though he can't work out how to use it, which means he's being purposefully contrary._

"Where have you been?" The words slipped out before he could smother them, raw and too relieved to shrug off as anything but honest. "I thought perhaps you'd-" he stopped himself, a little too late.

"My dear Corvo, surely you didn't believe I'd abandoned you?" The Outsider leant forward, resting his chin on his hands. "I have been busy."

 

"Asking people about my parents?"

"Among other things."

 

He didn't seem inclined to elaborate on _why_ that had been necessary; perhaps there was no reason at all. It was foolish to look for human reasoning in the actions of a whale, however much Corvo would have liked to find some.

 

Something like a low whistle rang out loudly, and was promptly echoed by several other whales. The Outsider slid off the chair with inhuman grace and approached the balcony, mimicking the sound perfectly; his voice was indistinguishable from the rest.

 

Corvo shook with silent laughter. "What are they _doing_?"

"Serenading." The Outsider drifted closer with a caution that suggested he might not be entirely welcome. Corvo shifted to make room for him on the balcony.

"Is that normal? Why are they-" he caught his breath. His own voice grated, too harsh and too human; it seemed a shame to interrupt the performance.

"Of course it isn't normal." The Outsider came to stand at Corvo's side. "I asked them if they would, for you. It was not the simplest thing to accomplish, but I find the effect to be worthwhile." He favoured Corvo with a sly smile. "Did you miss me in my absence?"

 

"Not in the slightest." It didn't sound convincing, even to his own ears. "Would you care to tell me _why_ there is a chorus of whales so close to the city, and why it's apparently here to-" his voice failed for a moment. "...serenade me."

 

The Outsider gave him a serious look.

"It was in one of the books I discovered, if I recall correctly. There should be a serenade, and a moonlit sky." He frowned absently up at the crescent moon. "The storm cleared appropriately, but unfortunately her shape is incorrect; I tried to talk sense into her, but she refused to cooperate. Most unhelpful."

It took a moment to process that, and another to believe it. "Are you- you asked _the moon_ to change shape, because...why? Because a book told you to? What is going _on_?"

 

He felt unbalanced, more so than anything since being stripped of his title and thrown into a cell to rot. There was a similar confusion, a similar sense that the ground he'd taken as solid, that he'd built a life on, was crumbling underneath him. There were rules in play that he didn't understand.

 

The whales were singing, and his heart was full. It shouldn't be that way; it should be empty of anything that hindered his duty to Emily, of the things he'd cut away to see her safe. He needed elation like he needed wonder, which was to say not at all. He shouldn't have this, when so many others didn't even have their lives. His fault. The whales needed to be informed of their mistake.

 

"I have come to the realisation that I wronged you," the Outsider said abruptly. "I should not have removed your lady admirer. I will bring her back immediately."

Corvo shifted uncomfortably against the balcony, thrown by the change of topic.

"No, there's no need. She's probably happier outside of Dunwall anyway. Most people would be, these days."

The Outsider gave him a confused look. "I don't understand. Do you not miss her presence? I thought she pleased you."

"I never actually intended to...involve myself with her. I said it to irritate you." It slipped out; one more admission he'd never intended to make, and couldn't explain the reason for. "I wanted to see what you might do."

 

"Humans are cruel." The Outsider's eyes narrowed in disapproval; it was such a foreign look for his usually blank features that Corvo found himself close to laughter again.

"And you are _not_?"

"It's a different matter entirely, I behave as is expected of me. But I am unaccustomed to being _baited_." He looked...lost. As far out of his depth as Corvo had been when they first met, what felt like a long time ago.

 

Corvo reached over and gently squeezed his shoulder, marvelling silently at the leather of his coat. It felt so very real. "You can't have everything your way; that would be boring."

"So it would." A smile dawned on the Outsider's face; he stared at Corvo as though seeing something entirely new. "Strange, to find one of your kind who understands the shortcomings of eternity. You are all so very...temporary."

 

Corvo thought he detected a trace of sadness there, mixed in with the resigned distance. Not for the first time, he wondered about the leviathans. Was there just the one, were they solitary by nature? For all its beauty the Void was an achingly lonely place.

"Sokolov thinks he can create an elixir of eternity," he remarked idly. "It's his pet project; I keep having to drag him away from it when he forgets that what he _ought_ to be doing is curing the plague. He honestly believes he can manufacture immortality."

"How very predictable of him."

Corvo frowned. "What if he succeeded? It seems the stuff of fantasy, but I've learnt not to underestimate him. What if he finds some sort of...antidote to mortality?"

_Would you appreciate the company_ , he wanted to ask. _Would it ruin your little games, or would you just create new ones?_

 

"He will not succeed." This time there was more than a trace of melancholy present in the Outsider's voice. For a moment, the undulating black shadows surrounding him seemed to lengthen, staining the balcony's stones. "I have seen his precious designs, and the more secret ideas that he dare not put to paper, and I know he will fail. It's a shame."

"You wouldn't mind an eternity of Sokolov?"

"I wouldn't mind an eternity of you."

 

 There didn't seem to be any kind of appropriate response to that. All the lessons in etiquette that had been forced on him as a child, all the books and experience in the customs of the Empire, and Corvo drew a total blank when it finally, actually mattered. There wasn't a suitable platitude for this.

 

In the end, he settled for honesty.

"I wouldn't mind that either." If his voice shook slightly, he probably wouldn't be judged for it. There was an impossible notion forming in the back of his mind, comprised of all the odd and inexplicable events of the past month as they fitted together like puzzle pieces. He pushed it aside for the moment. If he was correct-

  _surely not_

\- it wasn't something he was ready to consider. There would be other, less sacred moments.

 

"How long will they stay?" He nodded in the direction of the whales.

"Until dawn." The Outsider blinked slowly. "I am uncertain of what is expected now, however. The book did not mention an appropriate course of action for the remaining hours."

"You'll have to show me this book at some point." Corvo shifted, finding a more comfortable position against the balcony. "Would you...be offended if I asked for silence? Not solitude, I welcome your company, but perhaps we could just listen."

There was a new warmth in the slight smile on the Outsider's face, in the slope of his shoulders as he turned towards Corvo. "That is a request I can humour, and gladly. Does this please you?" He waved in the direction of the whales. Corvo followed the gesture with his eyes; had he ever really noticed how slender those fingers were? Odd, to think of such things now.

 

"Yes," he said firmly. "This pleases me very much indeed." He didn't have to force a smile; it was already there, though he couldn't tell when that had happened. "Truly, I don't think I've ever heard anything quite so wonderful."

 

He could have gone back inside, to the work that waited on his desk. The whales would not disappear if he made an attempt at multitasking, and if he was going to forego sleep he should do so in a productive manner. The Lord Protector had a duty, and no time to spare on sentiment.

 

Corvo didn't move. Dawn found him still at the balcony, eyes fixed on the horizon with the Outsider at his side.


	4. Chapter 4

In the end, it was the whales that did it.

 

"I want a masquerade party, just like the one at the Boyle manor that you wouldn't let me go to." And when he protested, about the _expense_ , and the _risk_ , and turned to support from Emily's council of advisors, Corvo found himself overruled.

"See Corvo, it's the singing whales. Everyone's been saying how wonderful it was, and how it's a sign of good things to come for my rule."

"Yes, I'm aware," Corvo said through gritted teeth. He'd received a sheaf of reports from Cecelia in the days following the Outsider's...serenade, all saying much the same thing. People were talking, and the talk was good for once. "But I don't see how that justifies such extravagance."

"It's about symbols, I think." Emily smiled up at him from the carpet by her fireplace, taking her eyes off the newest member of their household for the first time in days.

 

A wolfhound pup. From one of her grandfather's old supporters, no doubt, and while the gesture was lovely, it was also proving most distracting for their Empress. She refused to be parted from the creature.

"Callista was saying about how important symbols are to people. Like with your flowers, how they all had hidden meanings? Anyway, it's important that I use this to..." she frowned, trying to remember something. " _To my advantage_ , I think it was. If I have a party, and make the sea my theme, I can make it look like I knew all about it, and all the nobles will give me money."

 

Corvo's lips twitched. "It's not quite as simple as that."

"Callista says-" Emily's hound whined, and she turned her attention back to scratching its ears. "Callista says they want to believe. She says no matter how high and mighty they act, they're still scared by the plague, and the blockade, and the bad things that have been happening to them. If I can look like I'm in charge, and not scared at all, they'll support me."

 

And however mad the scheme sounded, Corvo had to admit to seeing some of its reasoning. He didn't entirely agree, of course, and organising security was going to be a nightmare made flesh, but...at the end of the day, he was a person, and he too wanted to believe.

 

Even if the whales were nothing to do with Emily, and everything to do with his lunatic benefactor's strange obsession.

 

Still, it had been a while since Emily was so excited about anything. She deserved something to bring her joy; Corvo had started to consider happiness a commodity with a value equal to that of imperial stability. A recent development, that. Something to do with the small gifts that had started appearing on his pillow each night: chocolates and pebbles and oddly shaped seashells. Sometimes there were notes, too.

_While it would be an exercise in futility to assign some kind of temporal measurement to the Void, I thought about you 'today'. You will be pleased to discover that it was a fairly benign thought, by human standards. Why this is relevant escapes me, but the book recommended that I inform you. May the knowledge bring you as much joy as it has brought me perplexity._

Oddly enough, it did bring him a measure of...amusement, certainly.

 

If he could enjoy things, their Empress should too. Corvo ran a hand through his hair, and tried to think.

"The Abbey is going to have _kittens_ over this."

"That's alright." Emily smiled sweetly. "They can't argue, not when they saw the whales too, and everyone's saying it's good luck. They'll just twist it so it makes them look good, and to do that they'll have to support me. Captain Curnow said so."

 

Well. If Curnow supported the idea, he would breathe a little easier.

 

"At least the decorations are nice," Curnow said to him a week later, as they stood at Emily's back and watched the nobles file past to swear fealty yet again, and compliment their Empress on her splendid party. "If she expends as much effort in fixing up the Empire as she does in planning a ball, all our problems will be solved in a year's time."

 

The nobles themselves were all part of the decorations. Symbolism aside, nobody had really stuck to Emily's chosen theme, and the results ranged from charming to ridiculous to downright macabre. The two remaining Boyle sisters showed up in matching red outfits, their masks shaped like weeping women. It wasn't a subtle message, but they had the grace to stick to the usual platitudes when they bowed to Emily. Corvo stared them both down, and refused to allow any guilt to show through. He'd chosen between murder and...the other thing, the option that meant one less corpse, that bit less blood on his conscience. He _didn't_ regret it. He couldn't afford to.

 

For the most part, people behaved, though the awe Emily's decorations inspired might have had something to do with that.

 

The entire ground floor gleamed in glorious blues and greens and purples, the silk  and velvet stretched over windows and wrapped around columns and banisters. Coloured glass lanterns added to the theme, which according to Emily was "the ocean, because that's what's most important to the Empire". The setting reminded Corvo uncomfortably of the Void; he couldn't shake the feeling that, if he peered into one of the alcoves behind a curtain, he'd find a shrine to the Outsider. He flinched at every Overseer that walked past.

 

Despite his and Curnow's strenuous objections, the Abbey had won out, and the hastily selected High Overseer arrived with an escort of seven men. At least they'd taken the 'masquerade' part of Emily's invitation seriously: the High Overseer was in full official regalia, but his followers had each taken a Stricture as the theme of their outfit.

 

Wanton Flesh was painful to look at. Corvo spared a moment of pity for the poor Overseer who'd no doubt drawn the short straw when costumes were handed out for the evening. Emily was in agreement with him.

 

"Hello. Aren't you cold?" she asked kindly, looking mildly unconvinced when the man assured her that he was _fine, thank you, my Empress_ through obviously gritted teeth

"Well, if you're certain, that's good then. I expect you'll be going to the second floor? Upstairs on the left." The Overseer agreed blankly and hurried off in that direction, while Corvo exchanged glances with Captain Curnow.

"Forgive me, Empress, but where exactly did you send him? The room plans I received didn't mention it." Corvo nodded in agreement, already berating himself for his distraction over the last week; it had been pleasant, but also meant he hadn't checked the plans for each and every room as thoroughly as he might have. If Emily had set up some kind of _surprise_...

 

"Oh, I thought some of the adults might like to do _adult things_ , you know, for fun, so I asked Madam Prudence to send some ladies over. She promised me she'd choose the best, and they'd all have interesting costumes. I should go and check at some point, just to make sure."

It took a moment for that to sink in. On the other side of Emily's throne, Curnow shook with horrified laughter. Corvo just stared blankly into space for a moment, trying to keep his temper in check.

"You don't mean... Emily, you did _not_ hire- girls from the Golden Cat. Please tell me this isn't so." He tried to sound as reasonable as possible. Emily was _not_ that innocent, however sweetly she might smile.

 

"Only a few. And they're forbidden from wandering around, I made sure their instructions were very clear." She actually sounded proud of that fact.

 

If he found a sufficiently high balcony, Corvo thought, he could probably throw himself off it and suffer a clean, painless death, and then someone else could deal with the Overseer Emily had just directed to her makeshift brothel.

"Just how many is 'a few', exactly?" Curnow's wolfhound mask obscured his expression, but it sounded like he was still choking back laughter.

Emily shifted uncomfortably. "Just... a few. You know. Three or four, or..." she glanced up at Corvo, and sank down in her seat. "Eight."

 

"Eight. We have eight whore- I mean, ladies, we have eight ladies in a chamber upstairs, and you just sent an Overseer to them." There was more horror than amusement in Curnow's voice, as the implications of their predicament struck him.

"That's right. Isn't it acceptable? I just wanted to be a good hostess, and everyone always seemed to have fun at the Golden Cat. I want them to have fun here as well."

Curnow went to massage his temples, then remembered his mask. "I'll just... go and fix that. Maybe the Overseer got lost. Please let it be so. Outsider's eyes! " He ran for the staircase, cursing loudly.

 

Sokolov moved into the place he'd left, cradling a large glass of wine.

"Piero heard a rumour about certain women of, shall we say, looser virtue that might be wandering around, and I have come to inquire, in the interests of science. I don't suppose there is any truth to the tale?" He eyed Corvo expectantly, as though he was the expert on the matter.

"Yes, they're upstairs," Emily told him. "Only, I think Captain Curnow might be sending them away, because I told an Overseer where they were."

"I see. Most unfortunate." Sokolov sipped his drink. "But perhaps the young -they are young, are they not?- women might instead be relocated to a different room? It seems a shame to send them away."

 

Corvo ignored Emily's agreement, because the less he knew about it the better for his own sanity, and surveyed the main hall. From what he could see, people were being shockingly well behaved. It was almost uncanny. Their musicians from Serkonos had shown up on time and didn't look even slightly disreputable. They were actually _talented_. Gaudily dressed nobles swayed to the music because they wished to do so, not because they felt obliged to pretend. From the chatter he could hear, the food was going down well, and even Emily's stranger creations were labelled "quaint" and "creative". Things almost seemed to be going according to plan for once.

 

Spotting Curnow coming back into the room, Corvo excused himself. Emily would be fine for a moment, surrounded by hand-picked guards as she was. It was slow going fighting through the crowds (and had they really invited this many people? He didn't recall Emily's guest list being so extensive), trying to keep from jumping every time someone turned around in an especially awful mask. Weepers seemed to be in fashion this evening, and for the life of him he couldn't work out _why_.

 

"Tell me you fixed it," he hissed as soon as Curnow was within hearing distance. The other man just shook his head.

"No need. The Overseer found the correct room, but he didn't appear all that upset by it. Honestly, it seemed a shame to disturb him, not to mention the woman he'd...attached himself to."

 

It shouldn't have come as a surprise; in a way, it didn't. How long had the Abbey spent, rotting from the inside without anyone noticing? Had Jessamine known? Had she chosen to ignore it? All the things Corvo wished he'd had the foresight to ask her, if only there'd been time.

"Right, then. Leave him be. One less Overseer for us to worry about." For now, feigned ignorance seemed best, at least until Emily was old enough to decide for herself.

 

Nodding in agreement, Curnow began to ease his way through the crowds in Emily's direction, Corvo following at his heels.

 

"Here now, that costume seems to be in truly poor taste." Sokolov's loud complaint was audible as they approached the raised dais on which the Empress was seated. Curnow reached him first, grabbing his elbow and trying to pacify him, while Emily looked on in wicked amusement.

"-young man, I don't think you quite realise the implications behind your choice of attire. I would call it 'disrespectful', but the  word does not adequately describe the- the _blasphemy_ , the _irreverence_ -" he sputtered into silence.

 

"Anton Sokolov. Unadventurous as ever. And I'd so hoped your escapade with the Loyalists might have improved you somewhat." Corvo froze in place at the soft, bland tone. Surely not. It couldn't be. He inched around Emily's throne to look at the source of Sokolov's rage, and found-

"Hello, Corvo."

 

Black eyes regarded him with amusement, the slight smile on that too-pale face implying a secret, shared joke. Corvo stared back in silence, utterly unable to find the right words. Under his new leather gloves, the back of his hand flared hot for a moment, as though in greeting.

 

It was him. Had he lost his mind? If someone recognised him...although, if Sokolov himself saw nothing more than a young man in fancy dress, it didn't seem likely that anyone else would show greater perception. The violet lights scattered around the hall lent everyone a slightly ethereal glow, and made their shadows twist and mutate eerily. It was a nightmare for security, but more than sufficient to hide the presence of the one man who was not a man.

 

"I'm having lots of fun," Emily was saying. "Everyone's being so kind, and there's no fighting, and they all brought me presents. It's wonderful."

"So I see." The Outsider's eyes lingered on Corvo's face, as though seeking his approval for the unexpected visit.

"I think they like me; I mean, they don't really have a choice, since I'm the Empress, but I still think they do." Emily's voice was high, anxious, and Corvo turned to smile at her reassuringly.

 

The Outsider gestured around him.

"You bring joy back to these discarded, rotting shells of creatures, and they will love you for it, just as they loved your mother before you. I wonder, how long will you avoid sharing her fate?"

 

Around the main hall, the music and idle chatter continued, as though the guests had forgotten their existence. Sokolov had moved away, dragged to the drinks table by a remarkably calm Curnow.

 

Emily just smiled uncertainly, clearly unsure of what to say in return. "I...thank you?" she offered, and the Outsider's smirk took on a mocking edge.

"I doubt that's wise, little Empress. Certainly not a habit you should form, if you do intend to outlive your unfortunate predecessor." He reached into one of the pockets of his leather coat, and Corvo jerked forward, his hand resting futilely on the hilt of his sword.

"What are you-"

"Don't you trust me, Corvo?" Long, pale fingers drew out-

 

a necklace, all pearls and shells and colourful bits of glass. It was a gaudy thing, ill-matching and unsuitable for a grown woman, the kind of piece that a young girl might lose her heart to. Emily gasped, enchanted, as he dropped it into her hands, carefully avoiding actual contact with her skin. She'd seen boatloads of precious jewellery that evening, as every nobleman and woman tried to win her favour with costly bribes, but they'd all been fairly restrained pieces, as was fashionable, works meant to showcase the craftsman's talent and the wearer's taste. This was bright, sparkly, and decidedly odd-looking; obviously, she had to wear it immediately.

 

Corvo glared daggers at the creature that was currently pretending benevolence for reasons of his own.

"What are you _doing_ here, exactly?" Emily wriggled in her seat, admiring the strange necklace, and Corvo eyed it warily, looking for whalebone. There didn't appear to be any, but it was difficult to tell from where he stood.

 

The Outsider ignored Corvo's question in favour of fixing Emily with another of his unearthly smiles.

"Empress Emily. I am here to ask for a boon."

Emily clapped her hands, delighted by the formality, and the present. "Go on then, ask me! I promise I'll consider it carefully, whatever it is."

 

Black eyes met Corvo's again, and this time they did not look away.

"I have a gift for your Royal Protector, should he choose to accept. If I may?" He waited for Emily's nod before reaching into another pocket and pulling out a bunch of small, purple flowers. These he gave to a very confused Corvo.

"Wait, what-"

"Oh look, that's _Viscaria_ ; Callista said it's also called Sticky Catchfly." Emily wrinkled her nose. "I don't really like that second name. But she made me learn it, and she put it in the test and everything." She beckoned Corvo closer, and reached up to whisper, "It means he's asking you to dance, and you took the flowers so now you have to. So you can demonstrate the _correct etiquette_ , and Callista won't have to set me another boring test."

 

He was going to strangle her. He was going to do- something, _anything_ to salvage what was left of his pride from the wicked amusement on her face.

"But I'm supposed to be-"

"Corvo." Emily's voice was dangerously sweet. "Who's the Empress here?"

"You are, of course."

"Yes, I am. I _order_ you to go and dance. And smile. You have to smile. Make sure he does, please," she said to the Outsider, who gave her another too-graceful bow before offering Corvo his hand.

 

"Shall we, Corvo?"

 

Taking the proffered hand with ill grace, Corvo pointedly ignored Emily's giggle behind him.

"I'd be _delighted_ ," he said, and meant it, if 'delighted' were a euphemism for physically dragging the Outsider away from the main hall, and attempting to shout some sense into him. He might not be recognised (especially if the Overseers were all occupied with Emily's courtesans and Sokolov confined his attention to the drinks table), but that would be of no use in averting the scandal; Emily's Lord Protector, and a mysterious, handsome young man. There'd be gossip, insinuations-

the two Boyle sisters would be very happy indeed.

 

Physically dragging the Outsider anywhere wasn't an option, as it turned out. He seemed to absorb any force exerted, or possibly didn't even notice.

"Where are we going, exactly?"

"To dance. Did you not hear the young Empress command it? It would not do to disobey, and we are after all her...loyal subjects."

Corvo tugged futilely, trying to free himself from the deceptively bony hand clamped around his wrist. The chill of it seeped through his leather gloves. "And when did you become _anyone's_ subject?"

"It stands to reason that I must be; only the Empress' subjects are permitted at this ball. I think, for tonight, I will try it."

 

They stopped in the middle of the dance floor, people stepping unnaturally out of the way as though nudged by an invisible force. Nobody seemed to notice. Corvo glanced around desperately, looking for any familiar, well-disposed face that might be inclined to rescue him. Callista. She would do nicely, or Piero, though he was still sulking over being shouted at a few weeks back-

"You've had your fun, and given Emily something to laugh over for the next year or so, not to mention Curnow and anyone else within hearing range back there. Let me go!" He hissed the words, hoping that by some miracle they might not be overheard by the inquisitive crowd.

 

"Corvo." Releasing Corvo's wrist, the Outsider took a step back and stood still, hands outstretched. "This is not a game. I have no intention of humiliating you in the eyes of your peers, and I have not come to this place with mischief in mind. I merely seek your company. Will you dance with me, please?"

 

He could have run for it. Yes, they were in the middle of the dance floor, packed in by guests on all sides, none of whom were being very subtle about the way they watched his every move. Yes, fleeing would have caused him great embarrassment, and probably Emily too, if people started saying her Lord Protector could not so much as refuse an unwanted suitor. Yes, it would mean an end to the little gifts and surprises he'd started looking forward to each day.

 

He could have run.

 

"I know that look you're giving me; the one that resembles a puppy, begging for treats? Emily does it when she wants something. It doesn't actually work." He stepped forward and took the Outsider's cold hands in his own. "And it doesn't suit you in the slightest," he added.

"No? And how would you prefer me?" They were close, standing chest to chest, and the musicians started playing something slow, and unfamiliar.

"Just...as yourself. Not your whale self," he added hurriedly, because a misunderstanding on that scale would be disastrous in such a closely packed hall, "As much yourself as I'm able to wrap my mind around without it combusting."

 

Corvo had always hated parties. The crowds, the stiff formality, the gossip-hungry vipers pressing in on all sides. It wasn't a _grand_ occasion without scandal, and the best of parties always ended in some poor soul's social ruination. That was a cruelty he could not condone, however much he'd tried to distance himself from it in the past. His duty to Emily, and the image he had to maintain for her sake, was just one more reason why this would need to be a short dance, for the sake of appearances. And he'd need to visibly hate every minute of it.

 

"Strange; you've become so distant. Normally your eyes hold a measure of welcome in my presence, but not now. Now, I am unwanted." The Outsider moved with all the ease of any nobleman raised from childhood on steps and music. If there was a touch too much fluidity in his gestures, a heavy grace like that of a dancer under water, only Corvo was close enough to see it.

"That's not entirely true." He hadn't ever really enjoyed dancing. Too much time spent trying to read a partner's mind, or compensate for their mistakes and his own, but this was different. They mirrored each other, step for step, like a reflection. Mistakes never once entered the equation, simply because they were impossible. They matched.

 

He shouldn't be enjoying this.

 

"I do not understand." The Outsider's hands were still cold, despite the warmth of the room and the fabric of his gloves. It was this small, unnatural detail, more than anything, which prompted the touch of anger in Corvo's response.

"No, I'm the one who doesn't understand. Why are you here? You act as though I should be pleased to see you, and you offer me _flowers_ in full view of my Empress and her court, and then you behave as though I should know the reason for it! Enough! What in the name of the Void- no, in the name of my own sanity, what are you trying to achieve?"

 

The Outsider gave him a patient look. "I am attempting to woo you, Corvo; I had assumed that much was obvious enough that even Emily could have guessed. Why you must persist in being so opaque escapes me."

"You're trying to- I thought I was going _mad_." The evidence pointed to a single conclusion, but it had seemed so utterly impossible... "So the flowers, and the... was it intended to be a romantic picnic? And that odd spoon-"

"In Morley, it is known as a lovespoon," the Outsider said. One hand brushed lightly over Corvo's jacket, where he'd concealed the gift in an inside pocket for luck.  Though apparently, 'luck' wasn't its only meaning.

 

He made the gesture look a natural part of the dance. How...frustrating.

"Perhaps one day soon I will explain what the different shapes signify, that you may better understand my intentions while I carved it."

"That...would probably help me appreciate it more, yes." Corvo stared off into the space over the Outsider's shoulder, his body automatically following steps hammered into him years ago. He'd resented it back then, but at least now it bought him time to think. Distance. Distance was good, acceptable, better by far than the other options.

 

And he'd been right in his suspicions. Oh, the...occurrences had been strange at first, probably due to a shaky grasp of theory without any experience of how that translated to practicality, but recently things had become more obvious. A serenade outside his balcony? He wasn't entirely oblivious. And the little things that had happened since, little _human_ things like chocolate, and sparkly stones, those he could understand. Dancing, too. The music was odd, slow and distant, and not entirely real. Some of those sounds couldn't possibly come from the man-made instruments their musicians had brought, which meant-

He'd have to be a complete fool, to overlook the meaning behind _this_.

 

Corvo was just surprised there'd been no poetry, considering what had started it all. Perhaps the Outsider didn't want to seem unoriginal. Or perhaps he hadn't been sure he could write a superior offering.

Something didn't quite add up. "That still doesn't explain why you had to go and scare Cecelia and Samuel. What have my parents go to do with anything? They're long gone, they died back in Serkonos."

"Are they? How inconvenient; I wished to request their permission to continue our courtship. This is still a practised custom, is it not?"

"It is, yes." Corvo frowned. "Our courtship? You don't think that's slightly presumptuous? I've agreed to nothing so far, though I'll grant that _your_ courtship has been...unique. Memorable, even."

"I have one more surprise to come this evening. After that, you may tell me whether or not I have proven my worth as a potential mate."

 

Corvo tightened his fingers in the Outsider's hold, stumbling slightly; he hadn't honestly expected the gestures to lead anywhere, though of course normal courtships did, but they were so far from normal...

"I can't go with you anywhere, I have to protect Emily." He spoke softly, suddenly very much aware of how close his misstep had brought them. If there was an inch between their noses, it would be a generous estimation.

"She is safe. There is no destiny in which the little Empress is harmed on this night; I have seen to it. You have nothing to fear."

The music faded, and they stepped apart at last; had Corvo been dancing with a noblewoman, the deliberate reluctance in their parting (he was past the point of denying the way his hands lingered, the way a sudden absence of cold breath on his cheeks prompted a pang of regret) would have caused an instant scandal. As it was, he was lucky he'd never planned a career as a social climber.

 

He glanced around, and swore silently. At some point the crowd had separated, leaving them isolated in the centre of the dance floor, and surrounded on all sides by the whispering masses. Behind the varying, terrifying masks, he could feel the oppression of their eyes, for the most part malevolently amused at his discomfort. Apparently they'd made for quite the spectacle. He could readily believe it. Damn.

 

Corvo straightened his shoulders, and glared at as many people as possible.

"I'm going to run for my life now," he hissed. "You're welcome to join me."

The Outsider blinked in surprise, as though the audience had passed him by unnoticed. "There's no need. They will have forgotten us entirely within the space of an hour. None will recall us come morning. Well," his smile had a wicked edge to it. "The young Empress might. She seems to derive great amusement from your discomfort, and that, in turn, amuses me."

Of course it would. "How nice for you both. I, however, am just a man, and I'm leaving now. Join me or don't, I'm rapidly ceasing to care."

"It would be most convenient if you chose to go outside; that is where you'll discover the surprise."

 

Corvo hesitated for a single, damning second. Though he supposed he'd damned himself a long time ago; any protests made at this point would be late, verging on ludicrous. "Promise me it won't have tentacles," he said insistently. "In fact, I'm not moving until you assure me that this surprise of yours isn't alive."

"You have nothing to fear." The Outsider gripped Corvo's wrist, his eyes oddly intense. "I have arranged for another display, similar to that of the whales. You liked that."

"I did," Corvo admitted. He still didn't move; as promised, the crowd was losing interest with an almost uncanny speed. It was difficult to see past the masks, but the eyes he could see looked glazed.

The pressure on his wrist increased slightly; not enough to cause harm, but unmistakably a plea for attention.

"The moon is refusing to speak to me, but I had words with some of her brethren, and they have agreed to perform with added enthusiasm to compensate for the inadequacy." The Outsider tugged on Corvo's arm, gently. "Will you come and see?"

Corvo allowed himself to be guided towards the exit. "You've been harassing the moon again? Honestly? I think if I tried something similar with Callista, or Cecelia... or any woman of my acquaintance, really, she'd be justified in resorting to violence."

"Yes." Corvo glanced at the Outsider just in time to catch the flicker of embarrassment that crossed his face.

 

It was nice to know there were others capable of denying his odd whims.

 

There was a crowd outside the doors, packed so closely that it was impossible to leave the building. Judging from the nearby sounds of a hysterically excited Sokolov out in the courtyard, something truly unusual was happening outside.

"-impossible for this location, I tell you, quite impossible, this defies all theories of astrological natural philosophy that I am familiar with, and I cannot begin to predict its consequences...Piero? Where is Piero? Somebody find the man, quickly, he must not be allowed to miss such a spectacle-"

 

Sokolov's voice cut off without warning as the crowd around them disappeared with the room itself. Corvo blinked in confusion, momentarily glad of the grip on his arm to keep him from tumbling off what seemed to be the edge of the Tower's roof. Black specks floated in the corner of his vision, melting away as he focused on them. The party's cacophony was a lot more bearable from this distance, but he wasn't about to admit it; if the Outsider wanted to play at being human, he could damn well learn a few things about decorum.

"A little warning would have been-" Corvo began, and then he looked up.

 

It was their sky. It had to be, because how many skies were there? But it was their sky, and their stars, only their stars appeared to be...falling.

 

He'd read of such things, in the reports on Pandyssia that crowded Jessamine's private library.

"All nonsense, of course," she'd said, "and if not, it doesn't bear thinking about. Our seas are strange enough, without rumours of the sky starting to come apart. I've asked Hiram to ensure these descriptions are never seen by the public. No point in stating a panic over sailors' tales."

 

Corvo stood and stared at the lights streaking across their night sky, and wondered how to react. Sokolov would start measuring, and have some kind of logical explanation by dawn, no doubt. Curnow would spare it a glance, and then lower his eyes to the people, muttering about spectacles, and the opportunities they presented for pickpockets. Callista would deny any kind of supernatural cause, while silently wishing for one; Emily would insist upon the latter. As for her mother... had Jessamine been in his position, she would have given the Outsider an earful for frightening her people, when the Empire was frightened enough as it was. She wasn't here, but by rights Corvo should have done the berating on her behalf. The stars were falling, and he should have been afraid.

 

It was very beautiful.

 

"I'd be the first to admit that I know very little about the usual arrangement of celestial bodies and the like, but," he shut his eyes for a several seconds, blocking out the sky as though denial could return it to normality. It didn't help in the slightest, and a treacherous part of him was pleased. "It doesn't seem as though this sort of display should be possible. Not here."

 

"It should not. But I asked nicely." The Outsider sank down on the roof's edge, cross-legged and utterly relaxed, as though there was nothing particularly unusual in the situation. For him, there probably wasn't. "And you need not worry about consequences. Everything will return to its usual state of banal normality in the morning." He tilted his head and eyed Corvo unblinkingly. "Does this make you...happy?"

 

Corvo sat next to him gingerly, trying to work out where he should be looking. The sky was hypnotic, exquisitely so, but the Outsider's eyes were even worse. He could drown in either, and enjoy every second. He could give every part of himself, every secret, every unspoken thought, every beat of his soul. For this being, he could surrender himself to _anything_.

 

He tore his eyes away from the endless black gaze; it was a painful effort, when looking was so easy, and submitting was just a breath away. He could do so. He _wanted_ to do so.

 

Too easy.

 

His throat felt unusually dry, but Corvo forced the words out anyway. "You've done this before, haven't you? I'd take a guess at Granny Rags, at least; it would explain her fixation with you. Do you find it makes us more pliant in the grander scheme of things, if you teach us to love you?" He kept his tone light, inquisitive. There'd been no cheating here, after all. Jessamine had done similar on many occasions. _Make the people love you_ , she'd said, _and half your problems solve themselves before your eyes._

 

" ** _NO_** _._ "

 

It was somewhere near a minute before the tremors vanished entirely, the earth shivering itself into silence while below them party guests shrieked and held each other in enthusiastic alarm, and above them the stars rained down with haphazard beauty. White-knuckled fingers gripping the edge of the roof, Corvo had to make himself draw breath; his lungs seemed to have frozen solid in the wake of what had felt like a wave, a tide of force striking him face first. It _hurt_.

 

The Outsider hadn't moved at all. Now, in the face of Corvo's discomfort, the slowly dawning fear, he sighed in a good approximation of frustration.

"No, Corvo. You mistake my intentions, as usual." One cool hand came to rest on Corvo's, easing his grip on the roof, slipping between his fingers and squeezing them tight. From anyone else, it might have felt like reassurance. From him, it could mean anything.

 

"You are special, though the why and how of it escapes me. In theory you are just one more man. If I cared for morality, I might venture to call you a _good_ man; you spare lives where you can, and regret what deaths you cannot avoid. You exist to fulfil duty, and you do not permit yourself to dream outside of duty's boundaries. There are others like you, and therefore you should bore me. Why do you not?"

 

He seemed to expect an answer, and Corvo fumbled to find one.

"I can't- I'm not interesting. I don't understand why you think so. I'm just myself, and that isn't special at all."

"Wrong again." Releasing Corvo's hand, the Outsider reached over to tap him on the nose with one slender finger. Presumably the gesture was intended as a reprimand. His hand lingered, tracing the shape of Corvo's features in unmistakable fascination.

 

"You have taught me a myriad frightening things; jealousy, concern, a desire for contact that I have no name for,"  his fingers slid over Corvo's jaw,  a cool thumb running over his lips. "I could not understand, and so I looked for some kind of...guide, to explain how I should proceed."

 

Corvo closed his eyes, drawing a deep breath and trying to focus. "This guide you mention-stop that, I'm trying to _talk_." Curious fingers explored his parted lips, and it would have been so easy to-

"I'm serious, stop it. I want to see where you've been getting your information from, what kind of odd ideas I can expect you to have." This was going to be a disaster, he could feel it.

The Outsider sighed. "As you wish." He drew back, waved his hand vaguely, and offered Corvo the large book that had suddenly appeared. "This I found in the Tower's library, shortly after discovering that I faced competition for your affections. It has proven adequate."

 

Corvo turned the volume over in his hands, frowning at the musty pages, and a spine that bore no sign of bend. It didn't look as though it had ever left the shelf, prior to being discovered by a confused whale-deity.

" _The Moste Noble Arte of Seduction._ " he read, his eyebrows raised in disbelief. "You didn't actually believe... well, I suppose you must have done."

If he didn't know better, he'd have said the Outsider was squirming uncomfortably. But that of course was impossible. Shaking his head, Corvo returned to the book.

 

"I've always wondered about these sorts of novels. What kind of person sits down to write a guide on seducing other people? It can't be very healthy for their existing relationships, if they have any; I'd lay good money on the author being something of a recluse. Married to a bottle of liquor, if married at all." He cracked the book open, wincing as the binding protested. "And it was written by-"

 

There was a long moment of silence between them. In the courtyard below the party continued, voices growing more raucous as wine and brandy loosened tongues.

 

"Robert Pendleton." Corvo found his voice again, and didn't bother to conceal the horror, a rising note of sickened realisation. "This is by one of Treavor's ancestors."

"His grandfather, yes."

"You took advice on wooing from Treavor's grandfather. A man whose descendants-"

 

"That he has descendants is proof of successful courtship, surely."

"I'd say the existence of descendants speaks more for the depth of his pockets than the allure of his charms; money will do wonders among the nobility. _Pendleton_. You've been basing your courtship on a book by a _Pendleton_. And it _worked_." Corvo stood abruptly, leaning over the edge of the rooftop to check how high up they were.

 

"What are you doing?"

"I think I'm going to jump. Asparagus, and live squid, dancing in public, those are things I can tolerate, but this time you've gone too far." The distance appeared sufficient for a quick, clean death. Being wooed by a whale was one thing, but _this_ was simply unacceptable.

 

"No." There were arms wrapping around his middle, an unmoving body pressed against his back. "Please," was added quietly into his ear.

"Let go this instant. You have...you have _wounded my pride_. If I were a noblewoman, you could expect me to slap you and storm off, never to speak to you again. As it is-" The arms tightened, and a very cold nose was shoved into the crook of his neck.

 

"I could not understand, and this book offered guidance, strange though it seemed. It was that, or ask for assistance, and only Emily will talk to me. Everyone else runs, or kneels and swears to obey me. Or cries in a truly depressing manner." Corvo twitched at the cool breath tickling his neck. "I thought it would be easy."

 

"It's never easy for humans, you know. There's more than courtship, there's politics, and what benefit your family can reap from the match... no, I wouldn't call this a simple matter." Corvo rolled his shoulders, trying to indicate through gesture that there was a time and place for everything, and he didn't need his neck nuzzled here and now. It didn't seem to have any effect.

"But your politics do not concern me, and you have no family. By that reasoning, courting you should be simple."

"People don't work that way. _I_ don't work that way."

"I know this now."

 

Corvo allowed himself to be tugged backwards by the insistent arms around his waist. It was touching, really, to hear worry threaded through the Outsider's monotone as he struggled to grasp exactly where he had caused offense. Long-lived he might be, but a deeper perception of human emotion was clearly not something he'd paid much attention to. It was no wonder he was so easily _fascinated_.

 

"You've a way to go before you understand humans," Corvo said. He pointedly tugged loose from the Outsider's hold; one pale hand grabbed his wrist as he tried to move away, gently manoeuvring him further from the edge. "And I wasn't actually going to jump; it would inconvenience Emily greatly to find a new Lord Protector."

"Such fondness you have for the child. For her, you would risk your life, surrender your dreams, and bow to her whims." The Outsider frowned, disappointment written all over his blurred features. "It seems an all-encompassing devotion."

"I don't understand what you're trying to tell me."

"No, Corvo, you tell _me_. Have you...space for another? You are so very small in form, by any comparison, and I cannot believe you have a capacity for unlimited affection. Therefore, love must be rationed. This is logical. And there are many who care for you."

 

The way his life had gone in the last year, Corvo wasn't remotely surprised they were having this conversation. Of _course_ he would be standing on the rooftop of Dunwall Tower, while above the sky rained down a shower of lights for his amusement, and below Sokolov drunkenly converted the courtyard into a makeshift observatory, complete with assistants press-ganged from their noble guests.

 

 Of _course_ he'd have to reassure his whale suitor that there was indeed room in his small, human heart for reciprocating affections. By his standards, it was almost normal.

"Yes, I have room for you. That's what you're trying to ask, isn't it? The answer is yes." On an impulse, he leant in close and lightly kissed the Outsider's forehead.

 

The world didn't end in a flash of Void-black and sharp teeth; Corvo had been half expecting that it would, whether by accident, or offense at his presumption. But there was nothing more than too-cool skin under his lips, and a barely audible intake of breath somewhere near his collarbone. Drawing back was an effort he forced himself to make.

 

Corvo cleared his throat. "There. Now you know. You've done...well enough, I suppose, given your source of inspiration."

"Not everything came from directly from the book." The Outsider sounded slightly defensive.

Corvo snorted."I highly doubt still-wriggling squid is mentioned in there."

 

"One of its many shortcomings, I think. But other things, too. I tired quickly of making gestures in the hope that they might have some significance I myself could not grasp. Flowers and carvings, gifts and sharing meals alone together; these are things of humanity. They pleased you, once you understood their meaning, but to me they were raindrops in the ocean. Small. Fleeting. Insignificant, in the face of the Void. They are _not enough_ , and so," he lifted his other hand, gesturing out at the harbour, and the horizon. "The sea and stars are yours, my dear. Tonight, this is for you. Such are the gifts a leviathan understands. This is my courting."

 

The weight of his meaning settled between them, heavy and unmoving; the real world seemed very distant in the face of those unblinking eyes.

 

"I think...I prefer it," Corvo said eventually. "I only really started to understand when you did things that seemed to have meaning for you as much as me. And the whales... you could steal a _stone's_ heart with a serenade of that calibre."

"Ridiculous. Stones are inflexible. They change with the elements in a most tedious pattern of predictability. Why would I want to court a stone?"

"Why indeed." Corvo stared down at the hand still gripping his own, as though concerned he might go back on his agreement and need to be held in place. It was almost sweet, if whales understood the concept. He didn't know if they did.

 

But he believed they could love. What else could whalesong be about?

 

"What if...I wanted to reciprocate?" he asked hesitantly. "What can I, a human, possibly do to please you? What gifts do I give to a leviathan?"

The Outsider shrugged. "Alleviate his loneliness, just a little. And you have done that since the day we first met; I consider myself well satisfied with your gift, Corvo."

 

"You're lonely. Why didn't you say?" He'd guessed as much, and then wondered if he was mistaken in judging this creature by human standards. Any human would have long since gone mad in that oppressive eternity; was it so farfetched to believe that a deity might pine for companionship?

 

Whatever the reason, the Outsider didn't seem forthcoming on the topic. Corvo let the silence stretch between them until it became apparent that he'd have to break it himself. Apparently there were things they wouldn't be discussing. That was fair; more than fair, it was _reasonable_. Human, even.

 

"So what happens now? You've courted me, most successfully," he glanced back up at the sky, still struggling to accept what he was seeing. "But that game's over and done with. What did you have planned next?"

The Outsider tugged the manual on seduction from his hands and began to leaf through it, frowning. "I seem to recall certain...suggestions. There were diagrams, some of which did not appear entirely- but of course, we have established that the narrator is unreliable." He slammed the book shut and tossed it aside disdainfully. "It seems improvisation is in order. This will be far simpler if you are a whale; come here."

 

" _What?_ "

The Outsider raised his eyebrows and beckoned. "Come here. Approach me. I propose to give you the form of a whale, whereupon we will engage in a mating swim, while I sing to you."

"No." Corvo took a step back, then another for good measure, holding his hands up in protest. "No, don't you try anything of the kind, or I swear-"

"Would you prefer to sing as well? Your accent will no doubt be atrocious to the point of incomprehensibility, but for you I will overlook it. If that is what pleases you." The Outsider followed Corvo's retreat, matching his steps perfectly, and smiling all the while. Though there was something odd about the expression, and on a human Corvo would have called it mischievous...

 

He stopped. "Are you _teasing_ me?"

"Is it not the human way, to employ humour when you are uncertain of how best to proceed?" The Outsider spread his hands, and shrugged. "I base this assumption off my own observations, _not_ Pendleton's book, so it should not offend you too badly, if at all-"

 

By the Void. Their resident mad whale-deity had mastered awkward humour; wonders would never cease.

 

Shaking with laughter, Corvo stripped his gloves off with quick movements, tossing them aside to join the unspeakable book. "You're insane, and it seems to be infectious; _you_ come here." He didn't wait to be obeyed, stepping forward unbidden and taking the Outsider's face in his hands. His tattoo flared hot with the contact, as he'd thought it might, but it was a mild burn that he dismissed as unimportant.

 

A lot of things quickly became less important than the salt-tang of the Outsider's lips, the way he lifted his hands to Corvo's shoulders as though unsure of how much touch he'd be permitted. It seemed odd to wonder if he'd closed his eyes, but Corvo would have bet on them being wide and startled; he chuckled at the thought, and felt the lips under his part in response.

 

If this was madness, Corvo thought, it was a peculiar kind, and not one he had any objections to. It couldn't last, and it could potentially leave him worse off by far, but he _wanted_ this, as he'd wanted nothing else he could recall. Pure, selfish, but he wanted to be here, with the hands that gripped his lapels and held him in place (and magic would have worked just as well, but also left him uncomfortable, powerless, and the Outsider must have come across the concept of sensitivity in his researches), as though leaving was something he might actually contemplate.

 

He wanted the odd gifts, strange compliments and indecipherable notes, cool lips and an inquisitive tongue that learned too quickly by far. He wanted someone to have adventures _for_ , and maybe even _with_ , for however long it lasted. Selfishness was discouraged in Royal Protectors, and desiring someone for no better reason than it pleased him was... a beautiful novelty; he would surely be forgiven for it. He wanted the sweet, illicit guilt because it would make him happy. Wasn't that what had started all this?

 

He very much wanted to know if there'd be a heartbeat under the Outsider's clothing; would it feel as real as the fabric of his shirt, or the strands of his hair?

 

Perhaps they could find time for a new sort of adventure.


	5. Epilogue

The sun shone brightly for Emily's parade; Corvo had to wonder if that was a natural occurrence. To be sure, the plague cure was not. _A dream_ , Piero had told him, _it came to me there, and I knew it could not be otherwise. Your mask was the same, you know._

He knew. Oh, he knew. This was a gift.

 

Emily was perfect, delightful in white and silver and a little girl's carefree smile. She was entitled to that, after everything, and he'd barely argued when she insisted on also wearing her favourite mismatched glass-and-shell necklace. It was highly appropriate, though she couldn't know that.

 

She'd got her banners and her crowds (a great many of them guards out of uniform, just in case), and they hadn't orchestrated any cheering, but it happened anyway. Some people had even found flowers to throw at her feet. A nice touch. She deserved a great many of those, and they would come. _Emily the Pure_ , they'd started calling her, when it wasn't _Emily the Blessed_ , or _The White Empress_. The poor child would have a cult following before her twelfth birthday if things carried on in this way; there were worse ways to start a reign.

 

He'd have to start watching out for Abbey-approved assassins. The Overseers had lost a great many supporters in recent months, and their accusations of heretic worship inside the Tower itself fell on uninterested ears.

 

Rumour had it the Lord Protector was more than familiar with the forbidden arts; a shame for the High Overseer that nobody cared. Emily could do no wrong and, by extension, her bodyguard was encouraged to employ whatever means he pleased to see her safe. Corvo took a great deal of vindictive pleasure in being as "heretical" as possible around the Abbey's lackeys, for the joy of seeing them cringe when he idly toyed with bone charms during meetings, or ended conversations with a pointed, "As the Outsider wills it". Such behaviour was childish, he was well aware; he would stop when it stopped being amusing.

 

Piero had shaved and dressed up for the parade in unstained, unburned clothing, Corvo noticed. Although that might have been due to Callista's influence, of which nobody was permitted to speak (not that it stopped Emily from pointedly designing wedding gowns during her lessons). A shame her miracles didn't extend to making Sokolov trim his beard.

 

The plague survivors probably didn't care.

 

There was music too, some dramatic march to accompany Emily's procession ("It has to be short, understand? We're not walking all the way to the Flooded District or anything like that," he'd said, and for once there'd been no protest), and not even the harried looks on the faces of her scientists could dim the Empress' smile. No, it wasn't at _all_ dignified, but since they were her loyal subjects they could do as they were told, please. And that please didn't mean they could say no, because it wasn't a question.

 

"You take my left hand, Piero, and Sokolov can have my right, so I'm honouring you both equally and nobody gets left out."

 

Emily held their hands as regally as possible, beaming at everyone in sight, and the crowd loved her for the gesture. From his position on the closest balcony, high above the packed boulevard, Corvo gave her a small wave. She saw and waved back, dragging a bewildered Sokolov's hand up into the air and shaking it wildly in Corvo's direction. Then her eyes darted to something over his shoulder, and she repeated the gesture.

 

"It appears I have arrived in time to witness the spectacle," a quiet voice observed, and Corvo  shifted over to make room for the Outsider.

"She's happy to see you." He raised his eyebrows. "You haven't been encouraging her to do odd things, have you? No... spontaneous arson, or new curse words, or gifts of sharp objects?" The Outsider shook his head at each accusation, smiling slightly.

"No, Corvo. The young Empress is pleased because she was adamant that I attend this procession, and I agreed to do so. So here I am."

 

"Here you are. Why, exactly?" He nudged the Outsider with his shoulder, an easy gesture that would once have unnerved him, and no longer did. "I understand her wanting to draw a crowd, but you're not a random plague survivor. I never told her of your...involvement, either. Did she think this would amuse you?"

 

"Emily informs me that you are prone to loneliness when you are not in her or my company, and therefore I am to stand at your side and hold your hand to ensure you enjoy this momentous occasion." Shrugging, the Outsider slipped his fingers between Corvo's, and lifted their entwined hands to his lips. "It's hardly an onerous task."

 

"I am _not_ prone to loneliness," Corvo said, resigning himself to being ignored. He'd worried, once, about the Outsider's interest in Emily, but as far as he could tell it seemed harmless. She was too young, too well taught, too sweet in nature. Nothing like the unpredictable wrecks of people that did the most _interesting_ things. No, Emily would be fine, and without the aid of magic. Some gifts she was better off without.

 

Some curses, too.

 

"Thank you," he said, keeping his eyes fixed on the crowd. "The plague... I never once thought you would help us; maybe I believed you couldn't. But thank you."

"I would have done it for no other. But it makes you smile, and I am glad of this." The Outsider sighed, cool air gusting over Corvo's knuckles. "Now the plague is gone, as are Daud's men, and the Abbey is all but powerless here... I suppose we are in for a quiet time. How depressing."

 

He was getting better at emotions every day; the resignation in his voice had actually sounded genuine. Corvo found it mildly insulting.

"A quiet time..." he mused out loud. "No plague to worry about, the blockade being lifted means supply shortages will cease to be a problem, and now the nobles have thrown their lot in with Emily, we can actually pay for things. I don't know what I'm going to do when all my energy isn't being used up on worrying. I'd have suggested spending evenings together, perhaps making another attempt at a picnic... The lack of stress is sure to give me an added enthusiasm for all sorts of activities."

 

He turned to the Outsider, mimicking his disappointed sigh. "But of course, you find those things depressing. Forget I said anything."

"Don't be _cruel_ , Corvo." He'd mastered reproach soon after Corvo remembered how to tease. Funny, how that had worked out for them.

"So you _do_ still find some amusement in our time together?"

 

"I have grown fond of the other activities." He'd learnt innuendo with predictable enthusiasm, and a mischievous smile to match. Corvo couldn't help but return it.

"So I've noticed."

The past few months had comprised of a series of lessons, some amusing, some exasperating, and some very pleasant indeed. So many things fascinated, and it was very easy to lose track of time with a partner who considered time itself an arbitrary annoyance.

 

This was the first time he'd so much as mentioned how quiet things were getting. Corvo was honestly surprised it had taken him so long.

 

"If you're still bored, our spies give it three months or so before Morley decides to try its luck. I assume a mass revolt should be enough to keep you entertained?"

"It should indeed." Satisfaction dripped from every syllable; a small reminder of exactly how human he wasn't. Corvo no longer found those small differences worrying. If anything, they made his days that much more entertaining. If he was honest with himself, the peace had started to grate; he ached for distraction, in a way that was entirely new. Love was one thing, a wonderful one thing, but he would not turn down a chance for new diversions.

"Another opportunity to watch me get shot at, I suppose," he said. "If I die, can I expect a lament from your whale choir?"

 

"You will not die." There was an edge there, something cold and sharp that didn't bear close examination. For an allegedly omniscient being, the Outsider was quite skilled at denial.

"I will some day." Corvo said it easily, without bitterness, or any trace of regret. He'd done what was needed of him, and found time to spare for a little joy on the side. He was _proud_ of that, and how many could say the same? A lifetime of peace would suit him ill, though Emily might disagree, and what dreams for the future that he allowed himself did not feature a quiet retirement, as they once might have. Something had changed.

 

He squeezed the Outsider's hand lightly, and returned to watching the crowd for insurgents or overly excited citizens. Yes, whatever happened in the coming months, he was happy in the knowledge that they'd be ready, and Emily would not be alone if the worst came about. It was all he could have asked for.

 

"Someday," the Outsider murmured, his gaze shifting restlessly over faces, never remaining on any for more than a moment. Eventually his eyes came to rest back on Corvo, and stayed. "We shall see."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there ends the longest thing I have ever written, woo! A few things, for anyone who didn't see it on the kinkmeme: I'm not an expert on the language of flowers, I used wikipedia and google, so if there are mistakes...maybe things are different in Dunwall? Same thing goes for lovespoons; Corvo's particular spoon was inspired by [this one](http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-cKBrrEnhcx8/UNKlwaqIxII/AAAAAAAAA9E/bB2beRJ5SRo/s400/David+Western+Lovespoons+Norwegian+style+Anniversary+spoon+Front.JPG) .

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Fanart of The Sea and the Stars are Yours, My Dear, But the Moon Would Not Cooperate](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1137786) by [Blackbird_singing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blackbird_singing/pseuds/Blackbird_singing)
  * [[Podfic of] The Sea and Stars Are Yours, My Dear, But the Moon Would Not Cooperate](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5817499) by [the24thkey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/the24thkey/pseuds/the24thkey)
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